


OLD World Torn Asunder. OLD VERSION. OUTDATED. STOPPED. DO NOT READ (unless you're comparing it to new version cuz you're curious)

by robotichawk



Series: Hisul'em and Soufehla's Adventures [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 32
Words: 81,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotichawk/pseuds/robotichawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The original version of World Torn Asunder. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK (I can't be responsible for you reading this)</p><p>You have been warned.</p><p>Fixed/Rewritten version available.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Betrayal of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A little orphan, which threatens the clan. She is not welcome, they told us. Shemlen Circles can have her.”

Sylvia softly pads through the deep forest, moonlight barely filtering through the thick canopy. Her night strolls are nothing unusual – many of her clan know she enjoys the company of animals as much as she did her clan mates. She always loves to observe the greenery around her, listening to the beautiful melodies of the birds as she hunted during the day, and marvels at how it melts into the comforting howls of the wolf packs under the moonlight. It is probably why she is a shape shifter (not that she told her lethallins that… they didn’t need to know everything about her) – nobody else knows animals like she does. 

And yet tonight’s stroll feels different somehow. The further Sylvia gets from her clan, the stronger the uneasiness grows, heavy in her gut. She picks up her pace, eager to join her pack of wolves. Once she shifts into a wolf and start hunting with her pack, the adrenaline would set her free of troubled mind. Sylvia knows this without a doubt.

She climbs one of the small hills, lightly jogging, and runs straight into something very hard. Stumbling, Sylvia feels the unexpected sensation of strong hands grasping her arms, righting her. She looks up, words of apology hanging at her smiling lips, then freezes. She is staring directly into the eyes of a shemlen in heavy armor. Her eyes widen as she take a step back. She then realizes that there are five of them. This wasn’t good. 

“Thank you, messere. I apologize for running into you. It seems that I have been thoroughly distracted tonight to not notice your presence.” She mumbles quietly. Hopefully they would not care for a young Dalish elf. Hopefully they would forget her. Hopefully, they would allow her to slink away into the darkness under the trees. 

And yet the vicelike grip on her arm did not lessen. If anything, the shemlen holding her tightens his grip. She winces.

 “A knife-ear with long black hair and greenvallaslin. This must be her.” The shemlen holding her speaks. His voice is low, sounding disgruntled, almost bored. Sylvia feels her heart drop like lead. They have her description. Why do these shemlens have her description? They must have been waiting for her. Her mind spinning, she realizes she has walked into a trap, rather than accidentally stumbling upon a group of shemlen in a distracted daze. Then her eyes focus on the symbol painted on the shields lying by the side. She cannot stop the sharp intake of her breath. A flaming sword bores into her vision. Templars. She is caught by Templars.

 “Well isn’t she a pretty little thing” she hears one of the Templars speak. She trembles and lower her gaze to the ground. She needs to get awaynow. But suddenly, her face is wrenched up painfully, and she looks into the eyes of another Templar, this one impossibly blue, ringed with blackness that spoke to her of dark desires.

 “Please serah. Please let me go.” She hears her voice seep out, quietly begging. It comes from someplace else, as if someone else has spoken, not her. Sylvia knows even with her magic, she wouldn’t be able to win against five Templars. She knows the stories her clan mates told around the small camp fires at night. Her Keeper has given her plenty of warnings as well. Mage-killers, Deshanna had said. Cruel, thoughtless weapons of the Chantry against mages. Mages like her.

The Templars only chuckled. “What say we have some fun with her? A little blood mage got a little rough and we had no choice but to put her down. Isn’t that right?” It’s the blue eyed one. His voice is angry. So very angry. She briefly wonders if he knows of the thick rage that lay in his voice. But Sylvia doesn’t have any time to dwell on that, because she then she hears the murmured assent from the other four Templars gathered about. Well, she wasn’t going to give in without a fight. She was a Dalish elf, and a very powerful mage at that. Sylvia would fight to her last breath. She pulls at the thick threads that Veil is woven of towards her, wrapping herself. She demands for the trees around her to answer her will. To her relief, she feels the roots of the trees lengthening, reaching towards her. She commands them to entangle the Templars surrounding her.

The sudden shock of being wrenched away from the Veil is nothing like she had ever experienced before. Feeling blind and sick, she falls heavily to the ground after being Silenced. A hand in a gauntlet drags her up by her long hair. She screams, kicking out blindly.

“A blood mage indeed. And she was oh so compliant earlier too. Can never trust them. Knife-eared abomination.” She vaguely hears the shemlen sneering at her, but can’t tell which one it is. Then there are too many hands on her. Some are holding her down against the soft green grass, others are tearing at her clothes. She struggles, trying to wiggle free, when a swift blow to her chin stuns her. Dazed, she feels her hands being pulled up and bound with a belt one of them has freed from their own trousers. But Sylvia can’t do anything about it. Her magic remains beyond her grasp, leaving her helpless and vulnerable. Through the bloody haze settling around her head, she can hear the angry voices murmuring insults and praises alike. She tries to pull at her magic again and again in vain, and see the angry one with blue eyes smirk at her.

Her body is caught unaware when a Templar forces himself into her. There are no words for the pain she feels, for the violation they force her through. She screams again, receiving another swift blow and a low “pretty thing, bite and you will regret it”. Soon her screams are cut short as Sylvia gags on the Templar in her mouth, his coarse hair rubbing her chin raw. She feels the slick blood running down her thighs, easing the tearing pain somewhat. She hears one of them commenting on her loss of maidenhead. Others laugh. She feels the burning tears running down her face as she struggle against their bruising grips, hoping that they would rather kill her. She isn’t sure how long she can bear this for.

*~*

Bleeding thorns! By the lost Dales, she hated the bloody Templar stamina. Sylvia isn’t quite sure how long this nightmare has been going on for. Perhaps two hours? More? Her mind has long since fled the horrendous world and is floating within her, ignoring all she can. In. Out. In again. The rhythm is always constant, always there. Then as if noticing the small place she’s mentally fled to, the one with the blue eyes begins to talk to her. “Little knife-ear. Know how we found you? Know how we knew about you?” In. Out. In. Out again. She opens her eyes to a slit and glares at him. She would spit if she could, but he is in her mouth. The constant, maddening rhythm of in, out, and in again.

“Your clan mates told us about you, little one.” He taunts her. “Sylvia, marked by the Dread Wolf, they said. Take her away from our clan, they plead.”

Sylvia doesn’t quite know what she wants to do. Should she scream at him? But his cock fills her throat, blocking out any noise she could make. And it feels too ineffective of a way to show the pain he’s inflicting on her, the dread that claws into her heart. She is already crying, the angry tears wetting her cheeks, so she couldn’t do that either. A lethallin had betrayed her. She knows that the Templar speaks the truth. How else would five random shemlens ambush her? In a forest no less? It hurts even more than her broken body does. She feels herself shaking, and another templar chuckles between her legs. He thinks she’s enjoying it.

“Your clan told us of your nightly strolls. Grab her, they urged. While she is alone.” She can hear the tiny whimpers trying to sneak past her lips. She clamps down.

“A little orphan, which threatens the clan. She is not welcome, they told us. Shemlen Circles can have her.” He chuckles, pleased, as he finishes in her mouth and withdraw.

Sylvia howls. She howls a long blood curdled cry. Her throat burns as if flames are licking her there. She does not care. The five Templars around her are shocked into stillness. The maddening rhythm of ins and outs finally pauses. She doesn’t stop.

“Shut up.” A stinging blow to her face once again. She howls even louder. Another blow. This time to the back of her head. She doesn’t stop. She feels a kick to her stomach.  
Then she hears it. The answering yowl some distance away. Her heart flutters with small hope. They were close by. She doesn’t even notice the next kick they deliver to her ribs.

“Savage knife-ear.” One of them mutter. He doesn’t seem too happy about being inside her anymore. She is okay with that. Then she finally hears the soft thuds against the grassy ground. Her heart beat increases as the sound gets louder. They are coming for her.

Huge wolves burst out from bushes all around them. Cursing at the sudden attack they were so unprepared for, Templars lurch away from her, desperately grasping at their swords and shields.

One of them trip over his own trousers, and Sylvia would have laughed if she could. She instead watches as two huge wolves tear into him. Razor sharp claws shredding the skin to ribbons. His throat is crushed under the strong jaws. She feels a deep satisfaction welling up inside her chest as she watches his blood pool around him.

She sees another one holding his shield up against a wolf on top of him. The wolf’s claws dig in deep, leaving deep gashes in the flaming sword, while a second wolf gets behind him and take his legs out. Clawed to death. Sylvia pulls at her magic once again. This time it comes to her easily, almost like breathing. Sobbing with relief at the familiar pulse, she burns the hateful belt binding her wrists together. The third Templar falls under three snarling wolves. She stands up on her shaky legs, her inner thighs coated with blood.

The fourth one chokes on his own blood as his throat is torn out. His gurgling gasps are like a music to her ears, and Sylvia smiles happily. She stalks over to the last Templar on the ground. He’s lost both his shield and sword, with two wolves circling him. A prey. He is a prey. It is the blue eyed one, with the angry voice. His eyes raises to meet hers, and this time they are full of fears which she is fiercely glad to see. He pleads for his life. She smiles at him, and gleefully denies him. She doesn’t hear how her own voice is so full of the wrath she had heard in his voice. She slowly burns him to his death, ensuring it to be drawn out and agonizing, and laugh, while her wolves still circle around the smoking corpse.


	2. Sodding Hole in the Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia wakes up to a giant hole in the sky that is slowly killing her. Probably a good idea to close it before it kills her, no?

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

Sylvia doggedly looks forward, ignoring the warrior-woman circling her.

“The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” Well, exactly how am I supposed to know how I survived? She had woken up just few minutes ago. Sylvia continue to stare at the wall in front of her pointedly. Honestly, she isn’t even listening to the warrior woman. Her attention is focused on the unfamiliar magic on her left hand. It isn’t her magic. It is something new, foreign, and dangerous. And it is on her.

Sylvia is shaken out of her thoughts as the warrior-woman rush her, and Sylvia grits her teeth. If she wasn’t shackled down… Thankfully, the red-haired woman has more sense than the warrior-woman (Cassandra. She files away the name in her head) and restrained her. After discussing something Sylvia doesn’t understand, Cassandra drags Sylvia to her feet and out into the sunlight.

After the dark dungeons, the sunlight is harsh, bringing stinging tears to her eyes. But soon, Sylvia stares at the sky in utter bewilderment. There was a hole in the sky. A sodding hole! Mythal’enaste! And it is the same sickly green hue as the unfamiliar magic on her hand. Oh Creators. She is in heaps of trouble.

As Sylvia listen to Cassandra explain that the hole – Breach, whatever - was caused by an explosion at the Conclave, the hole expanded. And ofcourse, it shoots jarring pain straight up her arm. Sylvia falls to her knees with a cry, trying to control the Mark. Obviously, it doesn’t work. Creators, she is in deep trouble.

“Each time the Breach expends, your Mark spreads. And it is killing you.” Wonderful. So she either help these foolish shems, or she dies by the strange Mark connected to the hole in the sky. Fen’Harel’s teeth! What have I gotten myself into?! Following Cassandra, Sylvia moves quickly through the small camp of shems. Their gazes are filled with untold hatred, and she snorts quietly to herself. Some things will never change.

* * *

The prisoner was practically a maelstrom all by herself. With a staff in hand she had grabbed from a corpse, the small elf commanded her magic with a certainty that left Cassandra with no doubt that their mysterious prisoner was a very powerful mage, and no stranger to combat or violence at that.

The prisoner swept through the hordes of demons with ease and grace as yet another wave of monsters fell from the sky. Cassandra would have believed that the prisoner killed demons on daily basis if it wasn’t for the rage she saw on the elf’s face. At least she knows how to handle herself in a battle Cassandra mused, as she dispatched a rage demon the prisoner had frozen solid. It would have been difficult trying to cut a path to a rift if the prisoner had been - Andraste preserve her! - a whiny noble or a chantry brother.

* * *

Sylvia wrenches her arm away from the elf that had grabbed it so rudely to shake at the rift. Granted, the rift closed with a sizzle and a pop… and a dreadful aching pain that left her arm throbbing and trembling. But when her eyes meet his, Sylvia stills. She knows this elf.

Sylvia’s never met him before in her life, and yet she feels like he knows everything there is to know about her. There was strange pull she’s always felt on her soul, the unknown thread that’s always had her tied to… something, a mystery that she’s never understood herself. Standing here now, looking into his enigmatic eyes, Sylvia finally knows it is him, she is tied to.

But before she can even gasp in a shock, Cassandra makes the introductions, and Sylvia thinks perhaps asking a stranger ‘why are you tied to my soul’, isn’t the best thing to say. Especially with the demons raining down on them and a green glowing thing on her hand that’s killing her. So she keeps her mouth shut, and learns her new companions’ names.

Strange elf is named Solas – ha! As if that could be his real name. Foolish shems obviously hadn’t caught on to his amusing moniker - and the durgen’len is named Varric Tethras. Sylvia instantly likes Varric, the easy going way he had about him, and comments on his ‘nice crossbow’. Varric seemed to enjoy the compliment, and all too soon they’re off again, killing more demons (Creators, will it ever end?) to reach the giant hole in the sky.

*~*

When they reached the forward camp, her little group is greeted by the red – hair (Leliana. Sylvia adds to her ever-growing list) and a pathetic shem named Roderick. If the situation wasn’t so dire, Sylvia would have throttled him. The red bastard calls for her head while the giant sodding hole grows larger in the sky, sending another wave of hurt through her. Growing ever impatient, Sylvia studiously ignores the chancellor (as everybody else around her did too), and heads to the Temple of Sacred Ashes where the green hole lay. Sylvia elects to take the mountain path - if there was a way to save the scouts, she would. As much as she disliked shems, Sylvia would leave no one helpless in the face of demons. And through this way, other soldiers wouldn’t have to fight their way through the demons to bring her to the Breach. Sylvia would not see others fall to demons because of her. It is the way to save most number of lives.

Granted, it is a thorny road. Or rather, a road filled with lots and lots of ladders and demons. Both of which hurt her Marked hand terribly. Sylvia bites back a string of curses as she gripped the ladder with her hands. What exactly have I done to get dropped in this madness? “Fenedhis! Why couldn’t the Breach happen to be at the end of a nice rolling road we could easily stroll down without having to deal with these fucking ladders?!” Sylvia screech as she sees yet another set of ladders she needs to climb to reach the mining tunnels. She’s had quite enough of these ladders. She’sdying, and the world is ending! There are demons literally raining down on them, and she had to climb ladders! Sylvia hears her group chuckle behind her, as she contemplate climbing with only her right hand, and turn to glare at them with all the rage she feels. Varric only laughs louder, and Sylvia decides that he isn’t worth the effort to yell at. As badly as she wants to set the dwarf on fire, Sylvia returns to the task of climbing the fucking ladders.

*~*

Her hand flies to her left arm as she close yet another Breach. The pain is growing worse with each and every rift she closed. Sylvia dithers for a moment, trying to pull her consciousness back from the edge of blackness that awaits her. The group of scouts they had managed to rescue salutes her and thanks her, though their words barely register past the thick layer of throbbing pain engulfing her. But Sylvia smiles, knowing that as bad as the climb with the ladders has been, the trip had been worth it. The demons wouldn’t get their claws into this scouting group at least. Sylvia sighs and move along the path to reach the Temple. It wasn’t far now.

After another set of sodding ladders, Sylvia drops into the Temple. There are corpses everywhere. Horror fills her, as she survey the area with her sharp eyes. Corpses twisted with agony fill the valley. She could smell the familiar burnings of flesh. Sylvia has burned a fair share of templars before after all. But a temple full of innocents is a different matter entirely. Sylvia feels sick as she looks at the corpses. The shemlens won’t be able to identify the victims. Nothing remains of them other than the agony they must have felt before their death. And I have walked out of here. No wonder Cassandra had suspected her. She feels a hand on her and tear her eyes off the still-burning bodies to Solas. The elf just shakes his head at her, and Sylvia swallow. Right, the Breach. She can see the first fade rift below her.

When the party heads down to the rift, they pass the strange red glowing rocks. Varric exclaims in horror, which fill her with dread. The dwarf had joked endlessly throughout their demon-bombarded trip. If the red rocks could make Varric serious, it must be dangerous indeed.

When she gets closer, she realizes it is lyrium. And it is wrong. Sylvia bends over and retch. Her sensitivity to lyrium is overwhelming her with thewrongness of the red lyrium. She shakes like a leaf as her body heave. It was corrupt and evil. Solas pats her, holding her dreadfully tangled locks away from her face and talked to the Seeker.

“It seems that she is very sensitive to lyrium. The way the red lyrium is affecting her is something I haven’t seen before, but then I have not seen red lyrium before either. With time and distance, I believe that it will not have any long term effects on her.” Sylvia nods, unable to voice her agreement. She just wants to get away from the walls with glowing red lyrium. Her party moves on quickly.

When they drop into the field with the Breach, a vision from the Fade played out. Sylvia watch in shock as she sees herself, disguised as a servant, run into the room where the Divine was being held by shadowy figure. Why didn’t she remember this? The vision leaves them all with more questions than answers, but Sylvia moves to open the Breach up to seal it. They will worry about the visions later, after the demon spitting hole is gone.

It of course spat out hordes of demons. And a pride demon had to pop out of the Breach.

After burning the pride demon, Sylvia connect the Mark to the Breach. The unfamiliar Mark begins to hum with power, sizzling and crackling as she pour more and more of herself into it, willing it to snap close like the other rifts. She can feel the Mark eating at her, drawing more from her than she was able to give, and yet the Breach does not close. Snarling, Sylvia grabs her Marked hand, pain growing and consuming her until all she was, all she ever knew was the piercing agony in her arm. With a scream, Sylvia wrench her arm away, and see the Breach explode in a shower of sickly green. Darkness promptly wash over her, drowning her senses.


	3. Herald of Andraste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia wakes up to find out that Breach was still in the sky, and that she has to remain with the newly founded Inquisition in order to close it properly. She gets introduced to the leaders of the Inquisition.

Sylvia woke slowly. Groaning, she rolled out of the bed - bed! She’s never even seen one before! - she had been stuffed into, tired and groggy. But when she heard the clatter as an elven servant dropped whatever it was she was holding, Sylvia was fully alert. Her eyes narrowed at the city elf, noting her clear skin. She detested flat-ears. “Where am I?” The question came out as a hiss, and Sylvia wasn’t surprised when the elf practically fled, mumbling something about Cassandra wanting to know she had finally woken up. She grumbled, disgusted at the meek flat-ear, and grabbed her belongings from the end table next to her. She noted how all her meager possessions was returned to her, and hoped that this meant Cassandra no longer wanted to kill her outright.

Slinging the staff over her back, Sylvia left the small room only to freeze in shock at the scene in splayed in front of her. Hundreds of shemlens bowed down to her, showing her respect she’s never seen before, especially not from shemlens. Sylvia wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do in this unfamiliar situation. Hesitantly, Sylvia pushed through the crowd, knowing she would find Cassandra at the Chantry. To her relief, the shems did not try to touch her or block her passage, but her pointed ears picked up the murmurs from around her. Herald. Savior. Andraste. Sylvia realized that they were words describing her. Unable to take the scrutiny any longer she fled, looking for the Seeker to give her the explanation she needed.

When she blasted through the door into the small room inside the chantry, Sylvia was greeted by the annoying prick’s voice commanding the guards to chain her. She briefly wondered if the world was stable enough for her to take the time to throttle this chancellor Roderick, but was sadly interrupted by Cassandra promptly dismissing both the order and the guards. Then Cassandra - Sylvia had to admit the woman was impressive by this point - declared something called the Inquisition, making the red shem huff with anger and storming out. When Cassandra and Leliana asked for her to join the so called Inquisition, Sylvia pondered.

The sodding hole in the sky - Breach. Breach. Breach. She was going to have to get used to that - was still there. Despite her best efforts, Sylvia have failed to close it. This meant that there was still a hole in the sky that demons could fall out from. A hole that had been killing her through the Mark just three days ago. It was probably a good idea to close it before it decided to start killing her again.

“We’ll see how this goes”. Sylvia murmured, hoping that she could close the Breach at the next attempt, and then depart for her clan in the Marches. Somehow, she doubted that things would be that simple.

* * *

 

Cullen rubbed at his temple in a vain attempt to relieve the headache that was throbbing there. Three days of constant fighting against the demons falling out of the sky had not helped. Only when he saw the constant flow of demons stemmed, and the word of stabilized Breach reach him, did he allow himself the respite of food and few hours of sleep before bringing his forces back down from the Temple. If it could be still be called forces. Too many had fallen to the tireless hordes of demons.

He felt a gaze prickling at his senses, and turned to look at the Spymaster standing next to him. Her gaze was sharp as usual – nothing went unnoticed under her scrutiny – but he also saw the soft concern reflected in her eyes. He gave her a tired half-smile to reassure her, letting her know that he was fine. Leliana considered for a moment then gave him a slight nod, and spoke.

“The prisoner is a Dalish woman named Sylvia Lavellan. It seems that she is the First of her clan and according to Cassandra, a very powerful mage.” Cullen had, of course, read the report regarding the mysterious prisoner before coming to the meeting. He heard the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“I am no longer a templar. I have left the Order by my own choice. You need not worry about it.” He replied tersely. Maker, he was getting sick of saying that. How many times did he need to repeat it? His headache grew, and Cullen willed for his hands to stay steady.

Just then, the door banged open and the Seeker lead the petite elf through the door. Cullen turned, eager to finally see the mysterious woman that the locales had taken to calling the Herald of Andraste.

She was not what he had expected to see. Actually, Cullen wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting. But the young woman standing next to the Seeker was beyond anything he had imagined. She had the slight build of elves, with slender limbs and petite figure. She stood a head shorter than him. Her hair was as black as midnight, with light from candle making it flicker as if it held starlight. It had thick gentle curls that reached to her shoulders. Her eyes were also black, like opal. But unlike most dark eyes that were flat, her eyes seemed bottomless. Cullen felt as if he could fall in and never hit the bottom. Her face was covered with lush green colored tattoos in a beautiful pattern, and he couldn’t help the way his eyes followed the intricate lines etched on her slightly tanned skin. Maker, this elf was beautiful. Then he noticed the glint in her eyes.

* * *

 

Sylvia followed the Seeker through the doors into the Chantry again. Apparently she was to meet the leaders of the inquisition. She followed Cassandra into the small room, her mind wondering about the Mark. It was still glowing slightly green, but the twisting pain throbbing her arm was gone. She wondered if it was dormant. Would it hurt again when she tried to close the little rifts? There was just so much they didn’t know about the damned thing!

Sighing, Sylvia brought her eyes up from her hand, stepping through the door. She swept the room with her gaze, recognizing Leliana from earlier, and found two new faces inside that were waiting to greet her. One was a pretty dark skinned shem, dressed in a noble clothing that seemed remarkably fluffy to her. She turned towards her, smiling prettily, and slightly inclined her head.

Then her eyes settled on the tall shem standing on the opposite side of the room. She noticed how he took a small step back when she entered, subconsciously putting more distance between them. Distance he would need if he were to pull out his long sword. His hands went to his pommel to rest. And yet from the relaxed lines of his body, Sylvia could tell the actions he took were involuntary. He didn’t even notice the way he moved. She narrowed her eyes. Then, Sylvia felt the familiar thrum of lyrium in his blood and stiffened. Templar. She cursed at her own idiocy. Of course it was a trap!

With a snarl, she ripped the staff from her back, holding it in front of her across the body. Her hands were already crackling with familiar electricity. Though from the way he moved, she knew he was an experienced templar. Probably very good at killing mages. This one would be tough to kill. But thank the Mythal, he made one critical mistake. He had not Smote her the moment she walked in. He would pay for that mistake dearly.

But her focus was forced to shift to the woman to her left. Cassandra drew her sword, pointing at her, and shouted “Disarm! Now!”

Sylvia hissed at the Seeker, kicking herself mentally for trusting a shem. Of course they would bring her to a templar. They had accused her of destroying the Conclave only few days ago!

“Did you think one templar would be enough to overpower me shemlen?” she sneered at the Seeker. Her gaze swept through the room again, checking for her adversaries. Dark skinned woman was cowering behind the table, obvious that she had no combat abilities. Sylvia dismissed her immediately. She had seen Leliana fight at the Temple. Leliana and Cassandra were both very dangerous, she knew. Thank the Creators that Leliana did not have her bow with her in this room.

“Drop your weapon now. Or I will Silence you.” She heard Cassandra threaten once again, and blinked in surprise. She felt no thrum of lyrium from the Seeker, and yet knew Cassandra was not a person to make idle threats. She filed away the information for later. For now all it mattered was that she had to escape. She was at a disadvantage, seeing as how Cassandra blocked the only way out of the room.

Her magic thrummed in her blood. It screamed for her to release it, to hurl it at the tall shemlen standing across the room, to just hurt him. She needed to make him suffer. She smirked at Cassandra as she raised her staff. Even if she was Silenced now, she would be able to take the templar down.

"He is not a templar!” The words cut through the tension suddenly, but Sylvia didn’t even glance toward the noble woman that had spoken.

“Do not lie to me shemlen. I know a templar when I see one.” Sylvia spat. She looked away from Cassandra just for a split second to look at the templar, to sneer at him, to let him know his death was coming. But what she saw confused her enough to still her hands from releasing the electric bolt into him.

The man had not drawn his sword. Sylvia looked at him bewildered, the very angry Seeker to the left of her momentarily forgotten. As she stared at him in shock, she heard him speak. His voice was low, but firm. It was filled with sincerity.

“I was a templar.” He pronounced each world carefully, holding the eye contact with her. “I am no longer a templar, however. I have left the Order”.

Her confusion made her hesitate, and she instantly cursed herself, knowing she had given him the time he needed to Smite her. Sylvia waited for the dreadful pain, of unsettling sensation of being ripped away from the Veil. But it never came. Baffled, she examined him carefully, her eyes roaming his body, and realized that the armor he wore did not bear the symbol of the flaming sword.

“I swear I am not here to harm you.” He finished with finality in his voice. Sylvia wasn’t quite sure what she should do now. She wasn’t about to strike down an unarmed man – she would not tarnish her honor with such a demeaning act. But the man was a Templar! She stood uncertainly, her hatred battling with her honor.

“Drop your weapon.” Cassandra spoke again, clear that this was going to be the last warning before she attacked. Sylvia glanced at the sword at shem’s belt – still sheathed – and finally relented. She relaxed her attack stance, putting the staff back onto her back. She straightened up, and glared at the Seeker. If Cassandra decided to attack, Sylvia would kill her using her last resort and run, she decided.

But Cassandra didn’t attack her. She sheathed her own sword, straightening out of her battle stance. She was still glaring at her however, and Sylvia shrugged. “You should have warned me earlier” she replied lightly. Cassandra glowered.

The dark shem coughed lightly, regaining her composure. “May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces?” Ah. So she must be the ambassador of Inquisition, considering how she handled the situation. Sylvia smiled toothily at the man still standing across the room. “A pleasure.” She hissed.

“I am Josephine Montilyet, ambassador and chief diplomat of the Inquisition.” She continued, electing to ignore the threat that was so thinly veiled in Sylvia’s response. Sylvia smiled inwardly. Josephine was apparently very good at what she did.

Once all the leaders of Inquisition were satisfied that Sylvia wasn’t going to murder their Commander, the meeting began in full swing, despite the heavy tension in the air. The matter of ‘Herald of Andraste’ was brought up immediately.

“It is not true.” Sylvia replied vehemently. “I understand the benefit of me being the Herald outweighs the disadvantages for now. I will allow the shemlens to call me that while the need persists. However, I demand that the leaders of Inquisition address me as Lavellan.”

Thankfully, they all agreed to her demand without too much grumbling. With that out of the way, it was quickly settled that she was to travel to Hinterlands to meet Mother Giselle. With her directions given, Sylvia stalked out of the room to prepare for the trip, feeling the templar eyes boring into her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought as a Dalish elf that was suddenly thrown into this mess, it was weird that Herald was so trusting. I mean they had all accused her of mass murder only moments ago (since she passed out). So I tried to make her as suspicious as I could.


	4. Beginning of Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia sweeps through Hinterlands and finally takes the time to sort herself out.

_Sister Leliana. Ambassador Montilyet. Commander Cullen._

_We have arrived at the Hinterlands and made contact with Mother Giselle at the crossroads. She was tending to the refugees when we arrived. While I am happy to say that getting the Herald to talk to Mother Giselle hasn’t been too difficult, I must point out that the entire area is terribly unsteady, and in far worse situation than we have surmised earlier._

_The war between the mages and templars range far and wide. Both sides seem to have lost their mind as they attack anything and anyone on sight. When we arrived, Inquisition soldiers were engaging them in order to save the refugees. I daresay there would have been heavy losses if the Herald had not intervened._

_Regarding the Herald, she has stayed true to her word. She does not openly reject the people labeling her as the Herald of Andraste, but should anybody close to her such as myself or Solas attempt to refer to her using her title, she gets very angry. And her rage is very impressive. We have quickly learned to refer to her as Lady Lavellan. She is quiet and withdrawn, and does not seem happy to be staying with the Inquisition. So far she has taken it upon herself to help the refugees by hunting rams and finding the blankets and such, and yet I can see it in her eyes that she does not wish to be here._

_I have concerns regarding the Herald. At night she often disappears into surrounding forests. I have attempted to follow her, but she does not leave behind even footprints. I do not understand how she manages to move without leaving behind any tracks, but she does. I have tried to reason with her, argued with her, that it was dangerous and foolhardy and she should stop wandering from the camps by herself. Her resistance grew to a point where she threated to freeze my arms off. Considering that she is needed, I have failed to pressure her further after that point._

_Another matter regarding the Herald. She is a surprisingly competent combat mage. I had suspected on our way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes that she was powerful mage, but only in Hinterlands did I realize the full extent of her abilities. And it worries me. A Dalish elf that is First to her clan should not have this much experience with combat. I believe we need more information on the Herald. The way she kills off templars is uncanny and I see a wicked joy in her eyes when she finishes them off. I have noticed that she never gives them a clean death._

_Lastly, we are on our way to meet up with the horse master Dennet. We shall return after we acquire the mounts for the Inquisition and make a full report then as well._

_Seeker Cassandra._

* * *

Sylvia once again melted off into the darkness cast by the trees after her little group made camp for the night. She smirked as she stepped lightly, amused that Cassandra would even attempt to follow her in a forest. That woman truly did not understand that the Dalish. If she did, Cassandra wouldn’t even contemplate the idea of being able to follow her.

And Sylvia knew she was harder to follow than even her clan mates. Without breaking her stride, Sylvia smoothly shifted into a wolf. No one was ever able to follow her, especially not in the forests. She padded away into the wild forest, relieved of the quiet calm it offered. No one approached her here. There was no never ending stream of shems, no whispered ‘knife-ear’ or ‘Herald of Andraste’ floating to her ears. Damned shemlens. They couldn’t even whisper properly.

As she fumed silently in the forest, Sylvia spotted a nug. Without a thought she pounced silently. Her canine muscles flexed under her thick coat of black fur, moonlight glistening on it. Her powerful paw trapped it, and with a quick bite, gave the nug a swift death. She would skin it later for crafting materials, she decided. She then settled on her haunches and quietly contemplated her situation. As much as she enjoyed the quiet forest at night, she knew she needed to sort through herself.

They had been in the Hinterlands for over a week now. She had met the Chantry mother like they had planned to without trouble. Killed a fair share of stupid templars and mages trying harm the refugees. Her lips drew over her fangs in distaste at that thought. Even she didn’t attack poor helpless unarmed shemlens, as disgusting as they were. This war was madness.

She shifted before finally opening up the mental notes she had been collecting since she fell out of the Breach. She knew she needed to do so, no matter how much she wanted to just run away. If the world was perfect, Sylvia would have run like the wind with her powerful legs right then, all the way back to the Free Marches. Sylvia whined softly instead, and settled her jaw over her forepaws and stared out.

Seeker Cassandra. She was a warrior of great ability, no doubt. Faithful and passionate to a fault. She wondered again at the threat Cassandra had made against her in Haven. She said she would Silence her, but Sylvia knew Cassandra was no templar. She contemplated for a while, then decided to broach the subject once they returned to Haven. There was no way she was going to be able to figure it out sitting out in a forest.

She moved on to the next on the list. Varric Tethras. A durgen’len, child of the stone. She couldn’t help the warmth in her chest as she thought of delightfully cunning dwarf. He was funny, witty, and so far been her only friend in this madness. He had asked for her welfare, actually concerned for her sake, unlike the others, and had just enough joke mixed in that she didn’t feel uncomfortable. A sly one to be sure, but she was glad nonetheless that this particular durgen’len was with her.

Solas. She couldn’t help the storm of confusion when she thought of the strange elven apostate. When she had met him, Sylvia had immediately felt connected to him somehow, and that strange sensation still hasn’t faded away. She had no idea if he felt it too, but knew it wasn’t magic. But he was so unlike any elf she had ever met. Solas clearly held disdain when it came to Dalish elves. That was hard for her to get over, since all she ever knew was her clan and her animal friends. And yet Solas did was not a flat-ear either. She wondered at the idea of journeying through the world alone, sleeping at places and seeing in the Fade of things beyond her imaginations. She knew she liked Solas. He was smart, collected, calm, and polite, and she respected him enough to keep quiet about his assumed name. But Sylvia was no closer to understanding the strange link she felt faintly.

Her thoughts moved on over to Leliana and Josephine. Josephine was sweet, even to her. That noblewoman was everything a deadly ambassador should be. Great asset to the Inquisition, she decided. And Leliana. Oh Leliana was brutally efficient. Sylvia had instantly liked the read-headed rogue, had seen the similarities between the two of them. Leliana was a dangerous woman, just as much as she was.

Then her thoughts settled onto the Inquisition’s Commander. Her nose twitched and lips pulled back in a silent snarl. A templar. Ex-templar, he had stressed himself in the war room. She snorted, her elongated nose twitching, hot steam visible in the chilly air. His mannerism practically screamed Templar. She had not seen the man again after that meeting, and truthfully, she didn’t know if she had the restraint necessary to not kill him. She felt a deep growl growing in her throat. Sylvia had to work together with a templar. It was unacceptable.

And yet she knew she had to work with him if she wanted to close the Breach. It wouldn’t do for her to kill the Commander for her personal satisfaction – no, there was just no way that would end well. She growled again in frustration.

They were supposed to return to Haven after acquiring the mounts. She steeled herself to talk to the shem once she arrived. Perhaps speaking to him will cool the anger boiling within her enough to close the Breach without an incident. She just prayed to Mythal she didn’t snap and burn him to death, much like the one with the blue eyes she had five years ago.


	5. A Day With No Blood Shed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After returning from her first trip to Hinterlands, Sylvia finally has time to start finding out more about the people she finds herself with.

“Having the Herald address the clerics is not a terrible idea.”

Sylvia looked over at Josephine in surprise. Not a terrible idea? How in the Creators’ names was it not a blighted idea?

“You can’t be serious.” Commander scoffed. Sylvia instantly had to fight to keep her revulsion down, and wondered if she would ever get used to being in the same room as him.

As soon as Sylvia had gotten back from Hinterlands, she had been roped into attending the war meeting with the leaders of the Inquisition. Despite the bone deep weariness she felt, she had allowed herself to be dragged into the blighted Chantry, only to realize that her being so close to the Commander in such a state was not such a great idea. She felt her nails digging into her arms as she tried to control the red haze of blood lust gripping her tightly.

“And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?” Leliana mentioned. Sylvia tried to turn her focus back onto the meeting, away from the magic thrumming inside her, away from the little sparks that flew between her fingers.

“I am more concerned this won’t actually solve any problems.” she mumbled. She didn’t know if she wanted to go to Val Royeaux. She never would have needed to, if not for the Breach. A bed in a little cabin had startled her. Sylvia wasn’t sure she was up for a shemlen city.

The meeting ended quickly (thank the Creators) once Cassandra pointed out they had no choice in the matter. Josephine quickly laid out their plans, and agreed to call together the remaining Chantry clerics in a week’s time. That brought a smile to her face slowly as she contemplated. A week’s time. That was all she needed.

After the meeting, Sylvia hurriedly changed out of her dusty shemlen traveling attires and cleaned up in the small cabin. It was strange, to be inside a building, but Sylvia appreciated the warmth it provided. The south was so miserably cold! After that, she went to see Cassandra by the gates. Pointedly ignoring the templar that was overseeing the recruit training, Sylvia walked up to the woman that was turning a training dummy into a pile of splinters.

“You need dummies made of iron” Sylvia commented. Cassandra grunted at her in response.

“Did I do the right thing?” She suddenly asked Sylvia, and she blinked back in confusion.

“What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life. One day, they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right.”

Ah. Seeker had misgivings about this little fledgling Inquisition. It was to be expected.

“What does your faith tell you?” She thought maybe getting her to talk about faith may help. She was dedicated to her faith after all.

“I believe you are innocent. I believe more is going on here than we can see. And I believe no one else cares to do anything about it. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot.”

Sylvia couldn’t help but snort at that. Cassandra had described shemlens perfectly. Cassandra glanced at her and continued. “But is this the Maker’s will? I can only guess. Tell me, do you believe in the Maker?”

Apparently, she hasn’t been clear enough. “I am Dalish. I believe in our own gods.”

“And there’s no room among your gods for one more?”

“There clearly isn’t room next to Maker for my gods” Sylvia spat. Cassandra looked surprised for a moment before replying. “Yes, perhaps you are right. I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Now, did you need something?” Sylvia shifted her feet, mentally detaching herself from the topic of faith. She launched straight into grilling Cassandra about Seekers. She had never heard of them before, and she wanted to find out everything. Cassandra obliged, answering her to best of her abilities until finally she was satisfied. She bid her farewell and walked toward the forest. Only to stop when she felt the thrum of lyrium from the templar.

The lyrium in his blood sang to her magic. It urged her to pull the veil around her, to wrap herself in its thick blanket, to slowly burn the templar. Sylvia shook herself reminding her that she had promised herself to speak to him. Might as well do so now. The group of recruits training should distract from her blood lust somewhat. She padded towards the Commander.

* * *

"You there! There’s a shield in your hand. Block with it. If this man were your enemy, you would be dead.” Cullen barked at the recruit. Maker, he knew they were little more than farmers and villagers, but after eleven years of being in company of Thedas’ best warriors, he couldn’t help but feeling frustrated at the little headway they were making.

“Lieutenant, don’t hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.” He told the templar standing next to him. His lieutenant saluted and left, as he noticed the Herald stalking up to him. He realized that she had a predatory gait, long even strides that spoke of easy grace. He felt his heart stutter in response, and had to forcibly remind himself of the hatred he saw in her eyes.

“We’ve received a number of recruits – locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None mad quitethe entrance you did.” He said to her. Best to stay on business, he decided as he noted how she stood as far as possible from him while holding a conversation.

“That wasn’t my idea.” Cullen couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’d be concerned if it was.”

“I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising – I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.” Cullen turned to accept a report a messenger handed to him, without breaking his stride. “Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.” Cullen hoped to alleviate the tension as he offered her information in a peace offering, as he began to read the report he had been handed. He groaned silently at yet another requisition request.

“I must have this mark for a reason. It will work. I’m sure of it.” Hmm. She artfully avoided saying anything they would give them more information on her.

“Provided we can secure aid – but I’m confident we can.” He signed the report and passed it on to the messenger. “The Chantry lost control of both templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can…” He trailed off as he looked into her eyes. He couldn’t read her expression. Something was lurking in her eyes, and yet she was so foreign, her culture so alien to him.

“Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

“No, but you seem to have one prepared regardless. You are very passionate about this.” Cullen realized that the elf seemed surprised. He chuckled. “Another time perhaps.” An uncomfortable silence fell between them after that. And Cullen desperately searched for something to say, anything to lift the tension between them. She broke the silence first.

“About the incident in the war room…” Ah. This was going to be awkward. “It’s alright.” He hurriedly cut her off. “I realize that as a Dalish mage, you probably have been hiding from templars for a long while. With the Breach and demons and Conclave exploding, you had every reason to suspect us as we had suspected you. I should have told Cassandra to warn you I was a templar once I read that you were a mage. It is partly my fault that you had lashed out as you did.” He finished in a rush.

“That… is very understanding of you.” He heard the surprise mixed with hesitation in her voice. Cullen risked a glance down at her, seeing her confused expression. He smiled gently at her. ‘Don’t scare her. Don’t scar her off’ He chanted in his head. “Whatever we were before, we are now part of the Inquisition.”

Then she bit her lips. Cullen felt his eyes being pulled down to watch as her white teeth peeked out a little and gripped her full bottom lip, tugging gently. He was shocked as images of him biting her lip instead suddenly marched through his head. Blushing furiously, he shoved the mental images aside. “I, ah….” Cullen cleared his throat. “There’s still a lot of work ahead.” He winced at himself. “Commander! Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines.” Cullen turned towards the messenger immediately, relieved at the interruption.  _Maybe the Maker does listen to the faithful once in a while._ “As I was saying” he smirked as he picked up the report and departed.

* * *

Well. Sylvia thought as she watched the retreating figure of the templar. That had gone much better than she had expected. Sylvia had expected shouting. Accusations. Maybe his longsword being drawn. She had definitely not been expecting understanding and gentle words from the templar.

She shook her head. He was still a templar, and she still felt the angry haze settling over her whenever she felt his blood sing to hers. And yet his gentle smile and warm golden eyes helped her hold back the flood of fire she kept inside her. She realized that probably the more they talked, less likely she was going to attack him if the conversations continued to be this pleasant. She slowly walked back to her cabin to leave a note for the Spymaster, as she replayed the conversation in her mind.


	6. Back to the Clan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia takes a little time for herself.

Cool winter winds blew underneath her outstretched wings, as Sylvia soared high above in the sky. She had left Haven the night before, leaving a note saying she had personal dealings she needed to take care of and that she would come back before their scheduled trip to Val Royeaux in her cabin. She also added a little suggestion at the end to Leliana that it would be a waste of time and resources to send scouts looking for her – she would not be found. She had then promptly shifted into a black feathered eagle and flew off.

Not many knew she could shift into a wolf or an eagle. After the incident in the woods five years ago, she had kept her secret with fervor, allowing only the Keeper Deshanna to know of her strange abilities. It was partly the reason why Keeper had sent her to the Conclave to spy – there was no one better than her.

Sylvia felt the winds change and beat her wings once again. It seems the Creators had favored her on this trip. The wind was blowing from her back, making the trip even faster than she had assumed. It would be only a few hours before she arrived at her old clan.

* * *

“What do you mean, she’s gone?!” Cassandra smashed her fist into the war room table. The poor terrified messenger shifted awkwardly in place before putting the note on the table.

“Ser. We found this note in her cabin.”

Leliana snatched up the note and read it quickly, before groaning in frustration. She passed the note to Cassandra to read as well. “You are to keep quiet about this. Dismissed.”

The scout promptly saluted and fled the room.

_Advisors of the Inquisition_

_I regret to inform you of my decision through a hastily written note, but I do believe that you would have disagreed with the actions I wish to take._

_I have personal dealings that I must take care of, and I believe that with the week’s time I have until the Val Royeaux will allow me to sort myself straight._

_Do not fear – I shall return before we are set to depart for Val Royeaux, you have my word._

_Leliana, do not waste sending your scouts after me. They will lose the trail as soon as they enter the forest. Aren’t there better things for them to other than chasing me all over the forests with absolutely no luck?_

_Lavellan_

Cassandra finished reading the note and looked up, passing it to Cullen. “Will you send your scouts out?”

Leliana huffed. “I don’t know. I have been trying to keep track of what she does in the forest whenever she slinks off, but honestly my scouts have lost her trail every time nearly the moment they step into the forest. I could send them off to look for her, but I suspect it would be a wasted time and resource as she suggests in her note.”

Cullen passed the note to Josephine. Cassandra noticed Cullen’s hand had fisted at his side, and wondered if it was due to the note or the lyrium withdrawals. She decided it was probably the irresponsible elf that was causing the distress.

“Even if she does return on time for the trip to Val Royeaux, we need to keep this information from slipping out to everyone in Haven. What are we going to do when the Herald is missing for a week?” Cassandra looked over at Leliana who shrugged.

“I could make it look like she left on a secret mission for the Inquisition.” Josephine put in after she finished the note. “Considering her backgrounds, it wouldn’t be too hard to convince the people that the Herald is off somewhere gathering information.”

“True. And this could actually be an opportunity for us.” Leliana suddenly perked up as she spoke fast. “With her gone from the Haven, we can put more resources to finding out more about her without worrying about her catching on to us. My scouts have been doing their best to hunt down any information regarding her before the Breach. Maybe this is the break they needed.”

Cassandra nodded thoughtfully, “Yes. I have no doubt we need to learn more about her. My time out in the field with her made me realize just how many secrets she has been holding onto. Perhaps you are right. We cannot let this opportunity go.”

“Agreed. Then Lady Ambassador will craft the story for the missing Herald, and Sister Leliana will gather information on her until she returns. If she does not return, I can set my men loose with another fabricated story.” Cullen nodded in agreement. With that, the leaders of Inquisition brought the meeting to a close.

* * *

"Da'assan! You are here! Emm’asha, I was so worried!” Sylvia braced herself as her Keeper came running. Thankfully, Deshanna stopped herself before she threw her arms around Sylvia, realizing the rest of the clan could see them. “Come lethallin, you must tell me your story.” Deshanna grabbed her and dragged her towards the Keeper’s tent.

Once Sylvia settled comfortably on the fox fur pelt, she started speaking in elvhen. Her clan exclusively spoke in elvhen, with only few traders and herself being the exception. “Ir abelas, Keeper. I would have tried to send word or would have come back earlier if I could have. Have you heard much of what has transpired since the Conclave?”

Deshanna held Sylvia’s hands and shook her head no. “We have heard that everyone who attended was dead. Except for one Dalish elf. I had hoped with fear clutching my heart.”

Sylvia grimaced. “The shemlens call me their Herald of Andraste. It is sickening. But I carry the Mark that is connected to the Breach, and I cannot come back until the Breach is sealed.”

Sylvia went on to tell her everything from the Conclave and what had happened since, finally making her delayed report. Keeper quietly listened to her story with sad eyes.

“Mala suledin nadas, da’vhenan.” _Now you must endure, little heart_. Sylvia hung her head. “I know, Keeper. I will not shirk my duty. I welcome my halam’shivanas.” Keeper looked like she wanted to cry as she said the sweet sacrifice of duty. Sylvia hurried on. “I do not think I will be able to come again before the Breach is closed. I will send word if anything is to happen. I was planning to take Assan back with me.” Assan, her sweet eagle meant for hunting and carrying words for the clan. She had learned how to shift into eagle by watching Assan since it was a babe.

Deshanna nodded at her. “You may take Assan back with you. He is yours to begin with.” She smiled. “Will you leave right away? You flew for a long time. You should rest before setting out again” Sylvia considered. “I have more time than I have initially thought. But clan does not need me around. I will go greet my pack and return to Haven.”

Deshanna gave her a long considering look before nodding. “Ma nuvenin, da'len. Dareth shiral.” _As you wish_.

“Ma serannas, Keeper. Do not worry, once the Breach is closed I will return to the clan. And do not let my new title worry them. I bear no love for shemlens and everyone in the clan knows it.” With that, Sylvia touched Deshanna’s arms in farewell and stood. She had a long journey back to make.

*~*

Shuffling back to her deserted tent, Sylvia rummaged through her small chests. The spying mission the Keeper had sent her on was supposed to be a short one, and all she had taken was shemlen style clothes she’d worn for disguise. Sylvia was ordered to go listen and watch, and return promptly and report. Never in her dreams would she have guessed at the events that transpired at the Conclave. She now stripped out of those rags, frowning in disgust. She couldn’t believe how long she’d had to wear those shemlen clothes for.

Instead, she pulled out her Dalish armor, strapping it on with practiced fingers, its familiar leather soft against her skin. Sylvia sighed happily as the welcome weight tightened against her body. She bent over the chests once more, drawing out her weapons. Sylvia hadn’t even taken her staff on this trip, knowing she couldn’t carry it without being suspected. No flat-ear would ever carry a staff. Now, she armed herself to the teeth, preparing for a long journey away from her clan. After she was done, Sylvia dug through the chest to look for the tiny bells she’d taken off for the mission.

The tiny little silver bells she wore in her hair marked her as Dalish as much as the _vallaslin_ on her skin did. Sylvia was forced to take them out, along with hiding her vallaslin with putty in order to pass for a flat-ear. She’d missed the small ringing noise that accompanied her every move, felt strangely hollow without them. She immediately set upon braiding them back into her hair, requiring no looking glass to perform the act. Soon, the tiny silver bells were woven into her hair, back in place where they were supposed to be. She shook her head and smiled, enjoying the clear ringing noise that she’d missed for far too long.

Sylvia knew she had to fly back to the Haven, which meant she wouldn’t be able to carry much stuff. Sighing, she pulled a small pack out, filling it with her own clothes. Those strange shemlen smallclothes were chafing and uncomfortable, and Sylvia wasn’t willing to put up with it any longer. Those breast bands were downright ridiculous. Once she was done with her pack, she shouldered it onto her back, cast one last longing look about her lonely tent, and left. The next time the clan moved, they would dismantle it for her. Sylvia hoped that they would keep the tent for the day she comes back.

*~*

Avoiding her lethallins, Sylvia padded back into the forest with Assan circling overhead. She loved her clan more than anything in this blasted world, but the words spoken by the templar five previous winters ago had made her keep her distance from the others. The only place she could truly unwind and relax now was with her pack. Sylvia smoothly shifted into her wolf and set a hard pace, following the trails the wolves had left for her.

Not too far away from the clan, Sylvia found her wolves. Her strange affinity with wolves had always been a concern for her clan since she was a little girl. But when she had received her _vallaslin_ , something had happened that nobody was ready for. An entire pack of wolves had imprinted on her. And as her clan travelled, the pack followed, and their number swelled. Sylvia didn’t mind, though her clan did.

After spending the rest of the day hunting and relaxing with the wolves, she found the pack master. She barked at him, communicating her thoughts. Farewell. She told the wolf – she wouldn’t be traveling with her clan anymore. She asked that her imprinted pack no longer follow the Lavellan clan while she was gone, and left with a heavy heart, wondering if she would ever see her treasured wolves again. She flew back that night under the full moon with her Assan, to Haven.


	7. The Iron Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voila, The Iron Bull appears!

The moon was high in the sky by the time Sylvia fluttered down to a tree branch outside of Haven with Assan. With her enhanced eyes, she swept the area around her, making sure she was alone before flying down to the grassy field below and shifting. Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. She had flown for too long, pushing herself to her limits in her haste to return. But she had made it back before the trip to Val Royeaux as promised, and she stretched her sore limbs, pleased with herself. And yet, she did not want to go back into the shemlen village yet, unwilling to give up her hard won solitude. So instead, she tracked deeper into the forest, planning to spend the night for herself.

* * *

Cullen bent over his desk, reports thrown haphazardly over the entire length of it. He pressed his thumbs into his temples and sighed. The headache that had been lurking beneath his eyes was turning into a full blown death grip over his head. It had been six days since the Herald had disappeared, and she was still conspicuously missing. She was supposed to meet with the surviving Chantry clerics soon, and Cullen couldn’t help but worry she would not return in time.

Suddenly a commotion began outside, and Cullen groaned. _What now?_ He dragged himself up from the table, his aching limbs protesting. He took a breath to compose himself and stepped out of his tent.

He stopped short as he saw what had gotten his men so excited. The Herald was walking towards Haven from the frozen lake, with a small cart dragging behind her. He felt an unexpected wave of relief washing over him, so strong that he actually swayed a moment before he quickly strode up to her. Now that he knew she was safe, his worry was quickly turning into seething fury.

“Herald! You have returned!” Cullen remarked as he drew up to her, stopping her short a few feet away from him.

“Yes, of course. And I have been successful in getting the information Josephine and Leliana have requested.” Cullen blinked in confusion, until he remembered the group of soldiers staring at them. He tightened his lips, wishing he could shout at her for running away without any notice. Instead, he just gave her a curt nod before stomping back to his tent. No matter how enraged he was, it wouldn’t do to let his men find out that their Herald had run away for a week.

* * *

Sylvia watched the Commander go, relieved that the man had enough sense to keep his anger in check. She continued her way into Haven, going to see Adan. She had spent the night gathering elfroots she knew Inquisition was running low on. She left the cart she was dragging behind her at the apothecary after letting Adan know it was full of elfroots. She trudged back to her cabin, exhausted, fell into the bed, and drifted off into blissful sleep.

Sylvia woke with a start a few hours before dawn. Rolling out of the bed, she quickly changed into her traveling gears she’d brought back from her clan, knowing that she had to leave for Val Royeaux soon. Her bells chimed pleasantly, the noise keeping her company in the lonely village. As soon as she finished pulling her boots on, she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find Varric and Solas standing there, and braced herself for the onslaught of lecture on irresponsibility.

Instead, they simply dragged her to grab hot breakfast before they got started on the road. Varric talked and joked the entire time, and eventually, she relaxed a little as she listened to impossible tales Varric spun, and smiled.

All too soon, breakfast was finished and her group walked out to the stable to meet with Cassandra. The Seeker sent her a glare as she moved to mount her horse, and Sylvia sighed. If looks could kill…

The journey to Val Royeaux remained pretty much the same way. Seeker fuming quietly while Solas and Varric tried to keep her spirit up. And then, they arrived at Val Royeaux.

The shemlen city left her speechless. It was… spectacular. Countless buildings stood tall, seemingly reaching for the sky. Everything inside it… glittered. And the shemlens! They were everywhere! Sylvia tried not to gape at anything and everything within the city, but it was… difficult. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected a view such as this.

And somehow, she ended up staring at Lord Seeker Lucius in the eye as he spouted nonsense and punched the Chantry clerk. Honestly, Sylvia had been itching to do so herself only moments earlier, and couldn’t really bring herself to fault him. But then of course he insulted her Dalish origin and took the templars and disappeared. Sylvia supposed she should be grateful that the Templars didn’t attack her on sight, considering that they knew she was a Dalish mage.

Funnily enough, Cassandra wondered if the Lord Seeker had gone mad, but Sylvia thought it was perfectly reasonable behavior from someone leading the dreaded templars.

With the chantry disgraced, Sylvia felt no need to talk to them further than to mention how horrendously the Chantry had failed. But as she turned to leave, an arrow whistled past her, with a note attached to it. Curious, Sylvia knelt down to read the missive, only to find out that the note boiled down to ‘find the red things’. She snorted. _Wonderful._ And on top of that, an invitation to a soiree and to Redcliff was delivered to her via a messenger who couldn’t spend another second be seen talking to the savage knife-ear. After Sylvia managed to get a merchant to agree to trade at Haven, she set out to look for the ‘red things’ as suggested by the note.

The ‘red things’ led her to a pompous noble she couldn’t wait to impale with wooden trunks. Then a flat-ear shot him in the face and called him squishy one, which Sylvia had to laugh and agree with. Though she was thoroughly confused about the entire Red Jenny system, Sylvia gave directions to Sera for the Inquisition. For a flat-ear, Sera wasn’t half bad with the bow, and if she understood the strange elf correctly, the Inquisition could benefit from the network of spies. Then, Sylvia went off to attend the soiree Solas and Seeker insisted on.

Soiree was a disaster in her mind. There were insufferable nobles _everywhere_. And meek flat-ears serving drinks. To top it all off, a spoiled brat that wanted to challenge her. She was all too happy to let the human enchanter kill the shem. He should have known better than to insult her honor.

The human enchantress turned out to be a powerful political woman. Sylvia allowed her to join the Inquisition knowing that they needed all the allies they could get, but couldn’t get the foul taste out of her mouth at the thought of keeping Vivienne around. She decided she would just avoid her to her best abilities.

By the time Sylvia returned to Haven, over a month had passed, and she had to admit that after spending so much time in the huge shemlen city, it was wonderful to see the small village. She went to check upon Sera in the tavern, before heading over to the blacksmith to check for some new equipment. Then with dread sitting heavily in her stomach, she moved to the Chantry.

The leaders of the Inquisition couldn’t even wait to move into the war room when they started arguing. Eventually, they all parted ways, and Leliana asked Sylvia to look for Warden Blackwall. Sylvia agreed easily, knowing the warden order was an honorable one, and left the Chantry, nearly fleeing the building in her rush to get away.

Her feet automatically carried her to the frozen lake and the quiet forest surrounding it, and she stepped lightly towards the solitude waiting her there, each sway of her hips ringing the bells in her hair reassuringly. She walked, humming a quiet tune to herself, until she felt the old familiar anger stirring her blood. A Templar. She felt her face break into the automatic hateful sneer she often wore. The Commander had wanted to go to the Order for help even after hearing what Lucius had done. She wondered just how much damage templars must do before the Commander realized the corruption in its ranks. She stopped a few feet away from him.

“I’d like to know more about the templars.” Commander looked over, surprise shining in his golden eyes.

“If you need insight into what the Order is doing now, I’m afraid I can’t offer more than you already know.” Deflection. He wasn’t going to spill the Order’s secrets. Of course.

“Anything else, I will answer as best I can.” Or not. Sylvia took a moment before launching into questions she had about templars. She knew the better she knew the enemy, the easier they were to kill. And this was one rare opportunity where she was actually talking to one, rather than blasting his head off of his body. Sylvia intended to make the most of the situation. Then she wondered about the vows templars took. Did they swear to watch all mages or something to their Maker? The thought seemed a little silly.

“There’s a vigil first. You’re meant to be at peace during that time, but your life is about to change.” _I guess they do swear to watch mages to the Maker then._

“When it’s over, you give yourself to a life of service. That’s when you’re given a philter – your first draught of lyrium – and its power.” Sylvia couldn’t completely compress the revulsion twisting her guts, as the Commander continued to speak.

“As templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen.” Commander went on, failing to notice the hatred boiling inside her. She tasted bile in her mouth as she remembered the templar from five years ago.

“A life of service and sacrifice.” She spat out. “Are templars also expected to give up physical temptations?” She wanted to know if those bastards have broken their vows.

“Physical? Why…” Commander blushed, and cleared his throat. “Why would you…” He gave up. “That’s not expected. Templars can marry – although there are rules around it, and the Order must grant permission. Some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion, but it’s um, not required.”

Ah. So that group of templars she encountered at least weren’t oath breakers. That didn’t make her any happier though. Suddenly she wondered if the Commander has taken that vow. He did seem completely dedicated to the Order. “Have you?”

“Me? I… Um… No. I’ve taken no such vows.” She could see his blush creeping up his ears. Did the man think she was _flirting?!_ “Maker’s breath. Can we speak of something else?”

“That’s all I wanted to know. Thank you.” She growled and stalked away.

*~*

“So you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.” Sylvia craned her neck to look up at the giant qunari. Creators, he was _big_.

“Nicely done. I hear you’re looking for work?”

“I am. Not before my drink though.” Sylvia smiled. She could sympathize with that.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant.” Wow, that was a mouthful. She assumed it was Tevinter. “Good to see you again. Throatcutters are done, chief.” She watched their quick exchange before Bull turned his attention back onto her.

“So… you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it… And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.” She had to agree that Bull’s mercenary band was talented.

“The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

“They are. But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me.” Oh? That certainly piqued her interest.

“You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is – demons, dragons? The bigger the better. And there’s one other thing. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?” Sylvia could guess where this was going.

“You’re a Ben-Hassrath? You must be under orders to join the Inquisition and send reports.”

“You catch on quick.” She saw the tinkle of approval in his eye.

“You run your reports past Leliana before sending them. You send nothing she doesn’t approve. If this turns out to be a trick, or if your reports compromise the Inquisition, Cassandra will eat you alive.” She warned him. She knew she didn’t have to.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. We’ll meet you back at Haven.” Sylvia smiled as Krem complained about casks they opened with axes. She just hoped Josephine wouldn’t get too mad that she hired the mercenaries without consulting her first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I know this chapter is... dry, to say the least. It does get better, haha!


	8. Stupid Circle Mages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall and Dorian joins in on the fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this chapter is mainly of game dialogue - do forgive me. The next chapter will be fully me!

Sylvia heard of the fade tear near Redcliffe from one of the villagers, and rushed over to seal it after recruiting Blackwall. She knew that Redcliffe was currently housing hundreds of rebel mages, and was are that having a fade rift that spewed demons right next to the village was bound to be a disaster. Fen’Harel take the leaders of Inquisition, she needed to close that fade rift _now_.

But when she had arrived to seal the rift with her small companions, Sylvia hadn’t expected to see the fade rift distorting _time_. Creators, what else are these rifts capable of? She quickly dispatched the demons spewing out, and closed the rift with a flourish. Her arm burned with pain she was by now familiar with. Then everything went downhill from there as a messenger met her at the entrance.

“We’ve spread word the Inquisition was coming, but you should know that no one here was expecting us.”

“No one? Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?”

“If she was, she hasn’t told anyone. We’ve arranged use of the tavern for the negotiations.” She traded confused looks with Varric and Cassandra. Something wasn’t right.

“Agents of the Inquisition, my apologies!” As one, her group turned to look at elven mage that was rushing up to them. “Magister Alexius is in charge now, but hasn’t yet arrived. He’s expected shortly. You can speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime.”

Magister Alexius. Magister as in Tevinter?! She shook her head at the mess. What had these mages gotten themselves into? She followed the elven mage to The Gull and Lantern with growing discomfort, sharing a look with Iron Bull.

*~*

“Welcome, agents of the Inquisition. What has brought you to Redcliffe?” Sylvia recognized Fiona from Val Royeaux.

“We’re here because of your invitation back in Val Royeaux.” Lifting her brows, Sylvia commented. What was she trying to pull?

“You must be mistaken. I haven’t been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave.”

“Well, that’s very strange, because someone who looked exactly like you spoke to me in Val Royeaux.”

“Exactly like me? I suppose it could be magic at work, but why would anyone…” Fiona shook her head. “Whoever… or whatever brought you here, the situation has changed.” That can’t be good. Her next words confirmed her fears.

“The free mages have already… pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium.” Her party was shocked into silence for a moment. Hundreds of things ran through her mind at the _idiocy_ Fiona has shown, and was saved from spitting out countless insults by Cassandra.

“An alliance with Tevinter? Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?”

Solas quipped in. “I understand that you are afraid, but you deserve better than slavery to Tevinter.” Sylvia nodded at that. Anything was better than slavery to Tevinter.

“As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.” Sylvia sighed, suddenly very tired. “Then point me to someone I can negotiate with.”

At that exact moment, the door to the tavern banged open, and another group of shems entered.

“Welcome, my friends! I apologize for not greeting you earlier.” Sylvia turned to look, certain that they were the Tevinters mages spoke of.

“Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.” Fiona gestured.

“The southern mages are under my command. And you are the survivor, yes? The one from the Fade? Interesting.” Sylvia instantly hated him.

“Shall we begin the negotiations?” She smiled sweetly at him, and hoped he could see the anger in her eyes.

“Right to business! I understand, of course.” As they moved to the table, Sylvia noticed Fiona frowning. She had given up the right to control the future of their own, right after the mages had declared themselves free. She felt disgusted at the incompetency of the Circle mages.

“Felix, would you send for a scribe, please? Pardon my manners. My son Felix, friends.” Sylvia noticed the family resemblance as the boy took a low bow and left.

“I am not surprised you’re here. Containing the Breach is not a feat that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed.” Sylvia grinned at that, not bothering to tell him that it was only the fade rift that had brought her to Redcliffe. He didn’t need to know how divided the Inquisition was on this matter.

“Well with a giant hole in the sky we can hardly think small.” Sylvia smirked as Felix fell into her lap. Surprised, she barely caught him before he hit the table. “Felix!” Alexius shouted.

“My lady, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Felix mumbled into her.

“Are you all right? Come, I’ll get your powders. Please excuse me, friends. We will have to continue this another time. Fiona, I require your assistance back at the castle. I shall send word to the Inquisition. We will conclude this business at a later date.” Alexius fussed, and promptly left the tavern then, leaving Sylvia and her companions confused.

Sylvia glanced down at her hand and noticed the note Felix had passed her, and read it.

_Come to the chantry. You are in danger._

Sylvia pondered, but knew there was no choice in the matter. “We’ll be careful, but we need to figure out what’s going on here.” She said, and everyone nodded grimly. Nobody was happy with how things were turning out to be. Sylvia questioned few of the mages at the tavern, got one tranquil to go to Haven, and proceeded to head to the chantry.

As soon as they walked in through the door however, she heard fighting. She saw shem mage - dressed impeccably - batting the shades away from himself. Once he noticed her, he straightened and waved over at her.

“Good! You’re finally here! Now help me close this, would you?” Anything else was lost as they battled the demons falling out of the rift. But as soon as Sylvia closed it with another wave of pain crashing through her arm, the strange mage started talking again.

“Fascinating. How does that work, exactly? You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and Boom! Rift closes.”

“Who are you?” She decided to ask before the mage had a chance to continue.

“Ah. Getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?” Cassandra and Iron Bull cautioned her. Tevinter. Pretty one. Can’t be trusted. But Sylvia liked the shem mage with a flourish already. He was funny, and unlike the other Tevinters she hated.

“Suspicious friends you have here. Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable – as I’m sure you can imagine.” Sylvia snapped to attention, back to business.

“Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.” Sylvia gaped at him.

“I’ve never heard of magic that controls time.” Solas agreed. “That is fascinating, if true… and almost certainly dangerous.”

“The rift you closed here? You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

Sylvia considered this. For some reasons, she believed him, but she knew it would be hard to convince the Commander. “I would like more proof than ‘magical time control! Go with it.’”

Dorian huffed indignantly at that. “I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it? Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

The door banged open and Felix entered. “He didn’t do it for them.”

Dorian smiled happily. “Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?”

“No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day. My father’s joined a cult. Tevinter supremacists. They call themselves ‘Venatori’. And I can tell you one thing: Whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

She heard Dorian mutter “It would be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time. There’s already a hole in the sky.” Sylvia couldn’t help but smile. That man had a quick wit.

“All this for me? And I didn’t even get him anything.”

Dorian smiled at that “Get him a fruit basket. Everyone loves those.”

Soon, Dorian departed with a promise to help her with the mages, and Sylvia gathered her group and left for Haven dreading the war meeting looming over her.


	9. Templar Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secret war room meeting behind Sylvia's back.

Cullen was once again overseeing the training for the Inquisition soldiers when a messenger ran up to him.

“Commander! Sister Leliana requests your presence in the war room immediately, ser!” Cullen nodded at him. “Thank you, Jim. Dismissed. Lieutenant, take over the training exercise.” He left as both the messenger and templar saluted him. He wondered what could be so urgent as to call him in right away to the war room.

As he pushed through the door, he realized that everyone else was there already, and raised his eyebrows.

“Ah, Commander. Now we can begin.” Cassandra greeted him.

“I have finally gotten some information regarding Lady Sylvia Lavellan.” Leliana started.

“Granted, it is nowhere close to how much I would like to know about her, but it is a start. My spies have attempted to contact the Lavellan clan. Not directly of course, but with their hunters and traders that were visiting the human settlements for one reason or another. Not too surprisingly, my spies got absolutely no useful information out of them.”

Cassandra grunted, impatiently gesturing her to move on.

“When they gave up on the hunters from Lavellan clan, I ordered my spies to ask about the small villages around the Free Marches that Lavellan clan foraged to. Truthfully, I did not hope for much. There was no reason at all why any villager should know about one elf from Dalish clan. But my scouts found out that villagers knew Lady Lavellan by description immediately.” Leliana paused, looking over at Cullen. He motioned her to continue.

“It seems that our Herald is known to the Free Marchers as the Templar Hunter.” The room fell silent as everyone looked to him, and Cullen looked at Leliana in confusion.

“All the villagers, and there were many, described her as the most violent, vicious Dalish elf within the Lavellan clan. It seems that she was sort of like their executioner – by choice. If any village hunters got anywhere close to her clan, it would be her that killed them. The only reason they even knew about her was because her clan mates had stopped her from killing the villagers a couple of times. The ones who had survived the encounter has spread the word.

My agents met with these survivors and spoke with them directly. They all said the same thing. Summarizing, a vicious savage with no mercy. Some villages even tried to drive out the Lavellan clan because of her. It seems that she just killed any and all that opposed her clan. Eventually, people learned to leave her clan alone.”

“But how does that have anything to do with her title as Templar Hunter?” Cullen asked, and Leliana took a breath to reply.

“As terrible as she sounds, the villagers also said that as long as they left her clan alone, Lady Lavellan left the villagers alone as well. Those she killed had either actively tried to attack her clan, or were holding weapons near her clan. It seems she never killed an unarmed villager or a child. But that is regarding the villagers only. When it comes to the matter of templars, her behavior changed. If there was a word that a templar was anywhere even remotely close by, Lady Lavellan would go on a hunt for them.” Leliana grimaced.

“It seems that no matter how many templars there were, she would always travel alone to the group of templars, wipe them out, and return to her clan. She has done so for the past five years. Not one templar who had ventured close to her clan’s forest has ever survived the trip. Villagers learned to quiet down about templars in the area eventually, but she somehow always found out about them and hunted them down.”

Cullen was speechless. He opened his mouth, then closed, with no sound coming out. A Dalish mage hunting templars. It was preposterous.

“I have managed to acquire the list of templars that have fallen to her, though maybe not all. They are all listed as templars who have fallen during service. As far as I know, there was no provocations on their part. Most weren’t even hunting her. Some were just passing through the area. It seems that Lady Lavellan hunted them for sport.” Leliana handed him a scroll with names written on it. Cullen wordlessly opened it and realized just how long the list was. His face whipped over to Leliana.

“You’re telling me she killed all of them? By herself? No one from the clan has helped her hunts?”

“Absolutely no one. It seems that the clan was actually trying their best to stop her hunts as well, fearing the wrath of the templars. There were hunters who were warning the villagers not to mention templars to any Dalish elves in the area.”

“She must have had _some_ help! She’s a mage! Templars are trained specifically for killing mages. There’s over forty names here!” Cullen waived at the list. Leliana just shrugged at him.

“Regardless of that, if this is true, isn’t Commander in danger from her?” Josephine asked hesitantly, bringing up his memories of their first meeting. She was ready to fry him in a mere second she had laid her eyes on him. He felt a chill go down his spine as he looked at the list again.

“I recognize some of the names on here. I sent a few of them into the area myself.” He said with a start. “I never found out what had happened to them while I was in the Order.”

“It would explain why she excels at combat magic.” Cassandra remarked dryly. Leliana nodded at her in agreement.

“After the first incident in the war room, it seems she understands the necessity of working with the Commander to close the Breach. But we cannot overlook the fact that she actively hunted down all the templars she had a chance to. Perhaps she plans on attacking the Commander after the Breach is closed?” Leliana suggested. Cullen sighed, as he rolled the scroll back up.

“Either way, we can’t do anything about this. We still need her Mark to close the Breach.” He reminded them.

“True, but it would be prudent for you not to be alone with her under any circumstances.” Josephine told him. Cullen merely nodded. He didn’t know what to think of this development.  
“Is there anything else?” Leliana shook her head. “Alright. Well I should probably get back to work.” Cullen turned and left the war room, feeling light headed. Forty seven templars were on that list. He couldn’t believe it.


	10. In Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia gets mages from Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually very happy about how this chapter turned out to be, even if it is a bit long. Especially the scene with Leliana fighting. What do you all think?

“We don’t have the manpower to take the castle! Either we find another way in, or give up this nonsense and go get the templars!” Sylvia glared at the Commander. Will he ever give up?

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister. This cannot be allowed to stand.” Cassandra reasoned with him. She was glad she had brought the Seeker to the Redcliffe with her.

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name. It’s an obvious trap.” Sylvia shrugged. She already knew that.

“Isn’t that kind of him. What does Alexius say about me?”

“He’s so complimentary that we are certain he wants to kill you.” Leliana supplied. Sylvia wondered if she really should send him a fruit basket.

Josephine frowned, “Not this again.”

“Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults. If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.” Sylvia’s temper flared at the Commander. Won’t allow it? How _dare_ he think he can control her! She wasn’t a meek Circle mage for him to watch! She was about to shout at him when Leliana interrupted.

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep!”

“Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught.” Josephine added. “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

Cassandra began “The magister – “

“has outplayed us.” Commander finished.

“The magister’s son, Felix, told me Alexius is in a cult that’s obsessed with me. I doubt they’ll graciously receive our apologies and go about their business.” Sylvia’s ear twitched with distress.

“They will remain a threat, and a powerful one, unless we act.” Leliana agreed.

“We cannot accept defeat now. There must be a solution.” Cassandra urged.

“Where is the Arl of Redcliffe? I’m sure he’d help us get his castle back.” Sylvia asked them.

“After he was displaced, Arl Teagan rode straight for Denerim to petition the crown for help. I doubt he’ll want our assistance once the Fereldan army lays siege to his castle.” Josephine gave her the answer.

“Wait.” Leliana cut in. Her eyes gleamed. “There is a secret passage into the castle, an escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.” Sylvia looked at her in surprise.

“And how would you know about this secret passage only the nobles of Redcliffe is supposed to know about?”

Leliana smiled. “The Hero and Queen of Ferelden got around quite a bit during the fifth blight. I was there with her when we used the secret passage to sneak into the castle to save Arl Teagan Guerrin and Arl Eamon Guerrin.”

“Too risky. Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.” Commander shook his head.

“That’s why we need a distraction. Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?” Leliana countered.

“Focus their attention on Lavellan while we take out the Tevinters. It’s risky, but it could work.”

The door banged open dramatically as she heard Dorian’s familiar voice. “Fortunately, you’ll have help.” A soldier followed him in. “This man says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander.” Commander turned to look at Dorian.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.” Dorian puffed.

“The plan puts you in the most danger. We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go after the templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you” Sylvia felt the eyes of the Commander on her.

She smiled ferociously. She was Dalish, First to clan Lavellan. She will do as her duty demanded of her, and represent her people for the world to see. And void take her if she went to request help from templars because she didn’t want to play bait. She drew herself to her full height and looked the ex-templar across the table. “Let us go get the mages.”

*~*

Sylvia landed in water and groaned, rubbing her bruised ass. And the guards didn’t even have the courtesy to let her catch her breath, rushing in screaming at her. Once the guards were bleeding into the water on the floor, Sylvia looked over at Dorian who had also managed to get up and straightened his clothing.

“Displacement? Interesting! It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us… to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?”

“The last thing I remember, we were in the castle hall.”

Dorian kept on talking. “Let’s see. If we’re still in the castle, it isn’t… Oh! Of course! It’s not simply where – it’s when! Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time!”

Sylvia stood, stunned. Moved through time? No. She wouldn’t allow it. She had to get back. “Then we go back to time we came from.”

“Let’s look around, see where the rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back… if we can.”

*~*

With Dorian in tow, Sylvia wandered the cells of Redcliffe. With growing horror, she saw the dreaded red lyrium growing out of walls. With her sensitivity to lyrium, Sylvia felt sick, upending everything in her stomach. Dorian looked concerned, but they had to move on. She increased her pace until she saw Fiona in one of the cells.

“You’re… alive? How? I saw you… disappear… into the rift.” Sylvia gasped in horror. The red lyrium was _growing out of her_.

“Can you tell us the date? It’s very important” Dorian urged. Fiona whimpered out. “Harvestmere… 9:42 Dragon”.

“Nine forty- _two_? Then we’ve missed an entire year!” things were getting worse and worse.

“We have to get out of here, go back in time.”

“Alexius… serves the Elder One. More powerful… than the Maker… No one… challenges him and lives.”

“Our only hope is to find the amulet that Alexius used to send us here. If it still exists, I can use it to reopen the rift at the exact spot we left. Maybe. It might also turn us into paste.” Dorian mused. Sylvia thought grimly, we don’t have a choice.

“Your spymaster, Leliana… She is here. Find her. Quickly… before the Elder One… learns you’re here.” Fiona begged her to stop this from happening as they left her in the cell.

As they fought through the depths of the dungeon, they found Cassandra. She was infected with red lyrium as well, and spoke of the year she and Dorian had missed. Assassination of Empress Celene. Demon army conquering Thedas. Her dread grew with every word the Seeker spoke until Sylvia felt numb. They also found Solas, glowing red. He understood the time jump situation quickly and joined her to find Alexius. They had also found others like Varric and Iron Bull, but they had too much red lyrium growing out of them. They didn’t even realize who she was. She grew numb terror as she saw more of this strange corrupted future.

*~*

When they finally fought their way up to the torture chambers, Sylvia froze in alarm at the familiar voice drifting out of the rooms. Leliana. She kicked the door open, readying her magic, only to watch ghastly Nightingale crunch the torturer’s neck with her legs. She rushed to grab the keys from the man that had fallen.

“You’re alive!” Sylvia barely heard her as she struggled to get the Spymaster down from her chains.

“Well, that was impressive.” It was.

“Anger is stronger than any pain.” Leliana said. Sylvia knew that already. Found that out the hard way. Seems Leliana had too. “Do you have weapons?” Sylvia handed her bow and arrows wordlessly.

“Good. The magister’s probably in his chambers.” Leliana armed herself.

“You… aren’t curious how we got here?” Dorian asked.

“No.”

“Alexius sent us into the future. This. His victory, his Elder One – it was never meant to be.” Dorian tried to fill the silence. Sylvia quickly shushed him.

“Enough.” Leliana spat. “This is all pretend to you, some future you hope will never exist. I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real.” Dorian flinched. Quietly, they made their way to the throne room. There were many Tevinters to kill, and it seemed to make her companions happier. There were also numerous fade rifts. She closed all the ones she came across, the pain growing and growing in her arm. There was too many. Then they came out into the courtyard.

She couldn’t stop the strangled gasp that came out of her lips. The entire sky was gone, only the Breach remaining. Not a speck of blue light remained. Everything had the sickly green hue the Breach was giving off. And there were demons everywhere. The world was either red or green. Sylvia wanted to cry.

As they fought their way to Alexius, Sylvia tentatively asked Leliana what happened. She flinched at the hatred in her gaze, but still demanded her answers.

“If we succeed here and I manage to go back to my own time, I will do everything I can to stop this world from happening. But I can only fight to the best of my ability when I know the enemy. This is a world where enemy has succeeded. It is also a world where all his secretive plans have come to pass. You tell me what has happened, and I can use the information back in my time to foil his plans.” Leliana finally agreed.

“Empress Celene was murdered at the Winter Palace. Chaos followed after that, and in that confusion, The Elder One used the demon army to conquer the South. With the Breach growing and no allies to rely upon, Inquisition fell.” Nightingale rasped out slowly as they delved further into the Redcliffe castle.

“Josie died quickly. She was lucky. The rest of us were either tortured or thrown into cells to grow red lyrium for them. Commander lead the last assault against the Elder One after you died. They tore his limbs off while he was still alive. They staked his head on a pike as a warning for those who work against the Elder One. No one has attempted to do so since.”

Sylvia could hear no longer. She wanted this nightmare to end. There were no words to describe the surreal world she found herself in. Finally, she got into the throne room.

“Look at what you’ve done, Alexius! All this suffering, and for what?” She screamed at him.

“For my country, for my son… but it means nothing now.” She heard his voice. There was weariness in his voice.

“I knew you would appear again. Not that it would be now. But I knew I hadn’t destroyed you. My final failure.”

“Was it worth it? Everything you did to the world? To yourself?” Dorian demanded.

“It doesn’t matter now. All we can do is wait for the end.”

“What do you mean? What’s ending?” Sylvia needed to know.

Alexius laughed. “The irony that you should appear _now_ , of all the possibilities. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death. There is nothing else. The Elder One comes: for me, for you, for us all.”

Suddenly Leliana appeared behind a ghoul next to Alexius and held her knife across its throat.

“Felix!” Alexius protested.

“That’s _Felix_? Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?” Dorian couldn’t hide the horror in his voice.

“He would have died, Dorian! I _saved_ him! Please, don’t hurt my son. I’ll do anything you ask.”

Leliana cut Felix’s throat. “ _I_ want the world back.” Then demons appeared everywhere. By the time they finally killed Alexius, she was exhausted, her bones melting, her magic sagging.

Dorian knelt next to his body. “He wanted to die, didn’t he? All those lies he told himself, the justifications… He lost Felix long ago and didn’t even notice. Oh Alexius…” Sylvia touched him gently.

“This Alexius was too far gone. But the Alexius in our time might still be reasoned with.” Dorian looked up at her. “I suppose that’s true. This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

“An hour? That’s impossible! You must go now!” Leliana shouted at them. Then the world began to shake around them. “The Elder One” Leliana glowered.

“You cannot stay here!” Solas shouted. He looked over to Cassandra, and with a nod, looked back at Sylvia. “We’ll hold the outer door. When they get past us, it will be your turn.” Sylvia swallowed. She realized there was no other way. Her heart ripped in two as she said “We’ll do our best.” Her eyes swelled up with tears as she watched Solas and Cassandra walk out of the throne room and closed the door. The pain, the suffering in this world was real. And Sylvia would never forget it.

“Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.” Leliana said, and faced the door. Dorian began casting at the throne. Sylvia followed Dorian to the throne, unable to tear her eyes away.

Soon, they heard fighting outside the door.

_Though darkness closes, I am shielded by Flame_

Leliana drew her bow as the door was smashed open. Sylvia screamed as she watched a terror demon throw Cassandra’s body into the throne room. Solas’ body was ripped in half. Blood dripping, his head was kicked into the room by a Venatori. An arrow buried itself in his chest soon after.

_Andraste guide me. Maker, Take me to your side_

Leliana never stopped chanting. Her arms a blur, Sylvia couldn’t even see the Spymaster drawing. Venatori fell like leaves on the floor. Then she was hit by an arrow in the left shoulder. Sylvia stepped forward in horror, but Dorian grabbed her, and screamed. “You move, and we all die!”

Leliana was overwhelmed. She fought off the Venatori on her with her bow. She managed to choke one while whacking the other. Then a Venatori mage grabbed her. As Leliana struggled, the terror demon reared up, and slashed its claws into her. Her body shredded as Sylvia howled.

*~*

She was back in the throne room. Black and green smoke swirled around, obscuring her view for a moment. It cleared soon though, and Dorian goaded Alexius. “You’ll have to do better than that.” She watched as the current Alexius fell to his knees. She spat at him. “You’re done here.” Alexius looked up at his son.

“Felix…” he called softly.

“It’s going to be all right, father.” Felix smiled as he knelt next to him.

“You’ll die.” Alexius cried.

“Everyone dies.” Felix replied. Sylvia watched as the Inquisition scouts escorted Alexius out of the throne room. Dorian couldn’t handle the heavy atmosphere anymore. “Well, I’m glad that’s over with!”

Then the doors to the throne room burst open. Sylvia winced at the memories that drew, and looked over to see soldiers in heavy armor marching in smartly. “Or not.” Dorian finished.

Then a man with a blond hair came in. He was tall, clean shaven, and with a clear warrior’s build. He was very handsome, she realized. He was frowning heavily though. Well who wouldn’t be frowning in this situation? She wanted to scream and rip the room apart at the moment.

“Grand Enchanter. Imagine how surprised I was to learn you’d given Redcliffe castle away to a Tevinter magister.” His voice held layers upon layers of sarcasm. Sylvia was impressed.

“King Alistair!” Fiona exclaimed. Ah, so this was the famous Alistair Theirin of Ferelden. Even she had heard much of him and his wife’s adventures.

“Especially since I’m fairly sure Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan.” King Alistair didn’t let up on his sarcasm.

Fiona fumbled. “Your majesty, we never intended…”

“I know what you intended. I wanted to help you, but you’ve made it impossible.” Alistair’s voice had dropped dangerously low. Fiona flinched. “You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden.”

“But… we have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?” Fiona cried. Should have thought about that before indenturing yourself to a magister, Sylvia thought darkly.

“You’ll be leaving here with the Inquisition.” She said tersely. She was in no mood to deal with the pathetic enchanter.

“And what are the terms of this arrangement?” Fiona asked warily. “Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you. The Inquisition _is_ better than that, yes?” Dorian cut in. She gave him a cold glare before turning back to Fiona.

“You will surrender yourselves as prisoners and conscripts of the Inquisition.” Sylvia announced. Fiona immediately protested. “We shouldn’t have accepted the magister’s ‘help,’ I know, but-“

Sylvia snapped. “The sky has been torn open. We are all in immediate danger. There is no room for failure now.” Sylvia ground out each word. “We cannot close the Breach without you. But we would be _mad_ to trust you.”

“Then I wish the Inquisition all the best. I’d like Redcliffe back to normal by sundown tomorrow.” King Alistair stated. She gave him a little bow.

“Then we have no choice but to surrender to the Inquisition” Fiona said, defeated. “I’ll go prepare for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed. We must do what we can to restore peace to a world that sorely needs it.”


	11. Suledin (Endure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia tries to drink her fears away as Dorian recommends. Doesn't turn out quite like she expected.

Sylvia leaned on her staff heavily as she listened to the Inquisition leaders argued _again_. They were in the Chantry, and Leliana was saying something about mistreating the mages. Sylvia’s ears twitched. Her ears were still ringing from the battle and the time magic, drowning out the inane words the Inquisition leaders were shouting out. Was Commander was protesting against Leliana? For once she found herself agreeing with the Commander, and was just too tired to be disgusted with herself. Her experience with the corrupted future had drained her of any trust she may have had for the Circle mages. Leliana scolded her, but Sylvia muttered something in return. She wasn’t even sure what she said, as she eventually stopped listening to them, visions from the future threatening to overwhelm her. She shivered, gripping her staff tightly. The blood on her staff sticky on her hands.

“The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.” His amused voice finally cut through the foggy haze, and Sylvia lifted her head to look at Dorian. She couldn’t help but snort at him, relieved that he was there with her. She didn’t think she would have survived the entire thing with her sanity intact if he hadn’t been there with her. When Dorian announced that he was going to stay with the Inquisition, she couldn’t believe how happy she was to hear that. She smiled warmly at him “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present.” Dorian laughed. “Excellent choice! But let’s not get ‘stranded’ again anytime soon, yes?” She nodded and headed out of the Chantry. With her report finished, she wanted to get away as fast as possible.

After methodically washing the grime and blood off from herself, Sylvia cleaned her armor and weapons inside the cabin then headed out to the frozen lake. She sat down heavily and looked out to the forest beyond it. Her habit took over, her mind automatically starting to sort through the information she gathered in the future to turn it into a tool she could use. She simply sat there for an hour or so. After that, she could no longer lie to herself. The images from the future crashed over her, smothering her, drowning her. A sob escaped her throat.

Sylvia had _literally_ fallen into the role of Herald of Andraste. She had never wanted the Mark, and she despised it for taking her away from the beautiful forests and animals she foraged with her beloved clan. Since the Breach opened, Sylvia had allowed herself to be led by the shemlens, knowing that as the only person who could close the fade rifts, she needed to make the sacrifice to keep the world safe from demons.

She just hadn’t realize what her failure would lead the world into. Now she had an all too clear image of what it would look like if she failed. Her entire body couldn’t stop shaking. She finally felt the pressure. Thedas – no, the world itself was depending on her. She wiped away the tear that had fallen. Then she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She started, looking up to find Dorian looking concerned. Creators, she must be out of it if she hadn’t heard a shemlen approaching her. She dabbed furiously at her eyes, hiding her face. Her throat felt too thick for words to come out.

Dorian settled himself besides her. “You know if you are going to be out here any longer, you’ll freeze to death? We did just get back from the future that showed what would happen if you died now. Please don’t make me go through that again.” Sylvia barked out a half-sob laugh at that.

Dorian pulled her hand into his. “Truly though, are you alright?” He asked quietly, and his sincere concern broke her down. Sylvia just couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her face. Her body shook with each sob that escaped from her mouth. Her shame burned at the tip of her pointy ears as she struggled to stop crying in front of a shem. But she just couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Dorian suddenly embraced her. She took a sharp intake of breath, shocked.

“Let it all out, love. You need to” he murmured softly into her ear. At that, Sylvia finally dropped her last guard, clutching at the mage’s robes and half screamed as she cried her fears away. She felt Dorian gently stroking her back as he held her tenderly.

Eventually Sylvia calmed down. When she felt as if her body had wringed out all the moisture she had, Dorian pulled her up and wiped her face gently. She looked up at him, too tired to care about him being a shemlen. Dorian smiled “Well, if you are quite finished, shall we go grab a stiff drink? After the harrowing ordeal we have gone through, I believe we will need at least eight each to clear our heads a bit. Then we can wallow in pathetic misery, and come morning, forget it all in drunken haze and deadly hangover. Then we will merrily be on the way to save the world again.” He helped her stand up, and Sylvia was too drained to protest as he half dragged and half carried her to the tavern.

* * *

Cullen finally emerged from the stuffed chantry, inhaling the cool night air deeply. He had been stuck in the war room for _hours_ – organizing and planning for the mages and the subsequent march to the Breach. He wasn’t too happy that Lavellan had gone to the mages for help, but knowing that she had killed enough of them to be called as Templar Hunter, he had known there was slim chance she would have gone to ask templars for help. He supposed he should be thankful that she had at least conscripted the mages, and didn’t let the abominations loose on Haven. He slowly began to walk towards his tent.

When he passed the tavern, he heard shouting and screaming. Worried that templars and mages were fighting again, he shouldered into the crowded place. He wasn’t quite ready for the scene that greeted him though.

With her curling hair hanging low around her shoulders, framing her face beautifully, Lavellan was singing in elven, with a mug of foul smelling ale in her hand and Dorian’s arm in another.

 _Melava inan enansal_  
_ir su araval tu elvaral_  
_u na emma abelas_  
_in elgar sa vir mana_  
_in tu setheneran din emma na_  
  
_lath sulevin_  
_lath araval ena_  
_arla ven tu vir mahvir_  
_melana ‘nehn_  
_enasal ir sa lethallin_

Cullen had no idea what the words meant, but her voice was silken, and the song sounded soft and sad. He suddenly ached to hold her in his arms, to soothe her and whisper gentle assurances to her ear. He shook his head. Where had _that_ come from?

He turned to make his escape when Dorian caught sight of him. The Tevinter called him over to the bar insistently, and Cullen sighed and walked over, trying to keep his head filled with professional thoughts about the elf that was sprawled over the bar. “Dorian. Lady Lavellan.”

Unable to form words, she just growled at him in disgust. Cullen decided that she had one too many drinks that night. “How many drinks have you had?” he asked Dorian. He still seemed somewhat coherent. “Oh we don’t know. I believe we probably cleared half the bar out tonight.” Dorian beamed. Cullen shook his head and looked over at Iron Bull.

Bull gave him a shrug. “They’ve each had about nine cups of the strongest and foulest drinks the tavern had to offer. Something about drunken haze and disgusting memories. She can really drink when she sets her mind to it.” He sounded impressed. Cullen sighed, exasperated, and moved to scoop her up from where she had fallen off the chair. She protested weakly.

“I’m going to take her to her cabin.” Cullen told them and left the tavern. He could hear Sera and Varric hoot loudly behind him, and ignored them doggedly. His attention was focused on not dropping the Herald as she struggled against him. “Lady Lavellan, please stop _squirming_!” He readjusted his grip on her, holding her tighter. To his alarm, she started to pull magic towards her, and he tensed. His mind flew back to the meeting he had with others, where they found out she had made sport of killing templars. He briefly wondered if he should Purge her before he got set on fire. Then her mumbled words set his teeth on edge. “Lyrium… in blood…. Singing to me… Templar.” He looked down at her to see her dark eyes were half open, staring unseeingly into his face. He didn’t understand what he saw in her face then, but it seemed to make his heart bleed a little. His head swam in confusion.

“Commander.” He looked up quickly to see Cassandra striding towards him, and nodded to her. “Seeker. It seems that she had one too many drinks tonight.” He said in an explanation. Cassandra looked at her “She’s had a hard day today. Going through the dark future has probably drained her both mentally and physically.” She looked up to him again. “Why have you not Silenced her? She is pulling magic. She may attack you, especially now that she has no control over herself.”

Cullen shrugged “I thought that would make her sick.” Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him, and he decided it was time for a strategic retreat. “I will see her to her cabin.” He told her, and strode off into the night, each step accompanied by the jingles from the bells in her hair.

He had not stepped into Lavellan’s cabin before. As he did now, he noticed that there were no personal items in her room at all. None whatsoever. He laid her down gently on the bed, before fumbling with the sheets, trying to get her covered. Thankfully, he remembered to remove her boots before the sheets got too dirty. He took the staff from her back and leaned it against the wall. He wasn’t too sure if she should go to sleep with all that thick layers on her, but felt guilty about removing her clothes while she slept. So he settled for fluffing the pillows and putting it behind her head instead. She sighed contentedly, and murmured something about lyrium singing to her blood again. He grimaced at the sudden want his body shuddered through at the mention of lyrium and straightened.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Cullen gave a hasty look around the room. There was nothing that indicated anything about Lavellan though. He realized that she probably hadn’t brought anything with her to spy on the Conclave. No wonder she didn’t have anything in the room. A pang of sadness and guilt shot through him as he considered the woman sleeping on the bed. She was accused of murdering thousands, ripped away from her clan forcefully, and now the weight of the world rested on her. And she didn’t have anything to remember her people by, tossed into this maelstrom with nothing but her magic to keep her safe. Well, that and her armor. He was curious as to where she got her armor, and the tiny silver bells. She wasn’t wearing either of them when she was captured. Understandable, as Sylvia was trying to pass as an elven servant, and yet it had mysteriously appeared some time during her stay in the Haven. And it was clearly elven.

He heard Lavellan shifting and sighing, and his pulse quickened at the sight of her slightly parted lips. Maker, he wanted to feel her lips against his. He stared at the soft mouth, wanting to bite it lightly, to suck it into his mouth as he held her against him. He wanted to kiss and nip at every inch of her neck, to lick and suck every inch of her body. Blushing, Cullen shook his head and shifted, feeling the light stirring below his belt. He had got to stop thinking about their Herald like that. Closing the door behind him quietly, Cullen forced himself to leave before he did something he would regret later, before he could bend over the bed and brush his lips against hers, and walked back to his own tent slowly, willing the cool mountain air to curb his irrational desire.

* * *

Sylvia woke with a pounding headache in her head when somebody knocked on her door. She sighed and rolled, groaning pitifully at the effort it took. The elven liquor were definitely stronger, but Sylvia had drank too much for that to mean anything. She stumbled over to her door to see Dorian and Varric looking all too happy about something. Grimacing, she gestured them in as she headed back inside, away from the garish light pouring into her vision. Varric handed her a cup of tea, and Sylvia took it with gratitude, downing it.

“So love, how are you feeling this fine afternoon?” Dorian clapped his hands together happily and rubbed, and Sylvia mustered the best glare she could while her head felt like somebody was nailing it. Of course it only made the smug Tevinter happier. “Ah I see. All went according to the plan then.”

“I am _never_ listening to you, ever again” Sylvia hissed. “My head feels like Bull cracked it open with his great axe.” Varric chuckled at her, and Sylvia finally looked around her cabin. Her boots were off, laid neatly at the edge of the bed. Her staff leaned against the wall on the opposite side. “Who brought me back last night?” She asked. She couldn’t remember anything. Probably good thing too.

Dorian’s grin threatened to split his face open. “Why, the strapping templar Commander of course.”

Sylvia dropped the cup, shattering it on the floor, causing Varric to yelp as he jumped out of the way. “What?!” Sylvia stared at Dorian, struck with horror. “You let him _touch_ me?” She spit out. All thoughts of headache were gone now. Varric and Dorian looked at each other before shuffling awkwardly. They looked scared, as they nodded. “Art u na’din, shemlen!” _I will kill you_. She screeched. “Ar tu na’lin emma mi, durgen’len!” _I will see your blood on my blade._ Sylvia could no longer remember the common tongue. Dorian backpedaled hastily as Varric reached out with his hands.

“Whoa, hey calm down! Nothing happened!”

“Nothing happened!” Sylvia shouted at the dwarf, slapping his hands away. “Nothing happened! You let me, in a drunken, vulnerable state, to be handled by a _Templar!_ ” Her voice rose to a shriek at the last word, as she felt panic clawing into her. Her legs shook as the memories five years past threatened to overtake her. She felt clammy hands ghosting across her skin, and she bit her lips hard.

“Hey pup, he’s not a templar anymore, remember?” Varric tried to reason with her again, looking like he wished he had brought Bianca with him. That made Sylvia still quickly, thouch Dorian and Varric looked even more nervous. After a moment, she stalked out of the cabin wordlessly, running into the woods. She couldn’t trust herself around the village at the moment. She knew she might burn it all to ashes in her state.


	12. From Foe to Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia finally lets go of her hatred against the Commander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Graphic description of non-consensual. Very brief, but felt that I should warn you all anyways.

Sylvia shifted smoothly into a wolf as she ran. Her paws thudded into the frosted ground under the trees. She smelled Assan (her eagle) flying overhead, and her whiskers twitched. She forced herself to run faster. Sylvia could still feel the templar hands roaming over her body from five years ago, and a deep growl rumbled in her chest. She had been suppressing it so well too. Her claws dug into the ground, making her run even faster.

Ghosts of hands pressed into her stomach, pinning her down. Cold gauntlets dug painfully into her inner thighs as they wrenched her legs open roughly. Her hair was being tugged forcefully as they angled her throat for their pleasures. Her wrists burned as she fought against the belt. Sylvia threw herself into a tree, trying to distract herself from the memories with pain, and felt her ribs creak. _Wonder if I broke one again?_ Sylvia panted as she lay under the tree, tongue rolling out freely from her gaping mouth. A pitiful howl ripped through her as Assan settled on a branch above her.

Sylvia stayed there for a long time. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to think, didn’t want to _exist_. To let another templar touch her, it was a disgrace she couldn’t suffer through. Her Mark suddenly blazed, her left forepaw twitching. She barked with amusement. Dreadful thing couldn’t leave her alone even in this form. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly, wishing the world could go away, wishing she could disappear. Then her ears twitched as she heard a whisper of fur rubbing against a bark of a tree. She perked up, looking around for whatever has disturbed her, sniffing the air. She caught a familiar scent she hadn’t been expecting. She shot to her legs.

And fell. A whine rolled out as she realized she  _had_  broken one of her ribs. Then she looked up to find her wolf pack surrounding her. They barked and yipped, happy to see her, to greet her. They settled around her, nudging and huddling. Sylvia couldn’t believe it. She looked up with wild eyes to see the pack leader, standing tall. How? Why? She pressed her thoughts into the grey wolf. In response, she felt the protectiveness and acceptance radiating off of the wolves surrounding her.

Her wolves had followed her from the Free Marches, because they had been worried about her. Sylvia felt her chest swell with warmth, with gratitude as she snuggled closer to her furry family. She had needed them the most, and they had come for her, in her most vulnerable moment. She realized that they would always be there for her. They had rescued her five years ago, and they had just saved her from herself. Feeling safe for the first time in a long while, she just closed her eyes and drifted off into oblivion.

She woke again when stars were shining brightly in the sky. Yipping quietly, she got onto her paws again, this time with the help of her pack. Once she was steady enough, she shifted back into her elven form. Instantly, icy wind cut into her, and Sylvia realized she had forgotten to put her boots on, and cursed. At least she still had her coat on, having slept in them all night.

Sylvia had to heal her bones though, and gritting her teeth, pressed her hand to her side, coating her hand and her chest with soft green glow of healing magic. Wolves surrounded her, trying to block the wind as her magic worked. She still shivered, and Assan screeched somewhere above her.

Once she finished healing herself, she stood up and flexed, testing herself. Her muscles flexed fluidly and she felt satisfied. She had gotten very good at healing herself. No longer able to bear the cold, she shifted back into a wolf’s form and padded back towards Haven, thanking and bidding her wolves farewell for the night.

 _Thunk_. Her ears swiveled around, catching the faint noise over the wind. She paused, one paw still lifted up, as she considered the noise. She was very close to the village now, and it made sense that someone may be out and about, but her curiosity got the better of her. Following the noise, she veered off course.

And came face to face with the Commander. Or, face to pommel, considering her new height. She jumped right back and snarled just as he backtracked quickly, putting his hands up in a non-threatening manner, his eyes wide with surprise. She was just about to run away when she heard him gasp. “Maker’s breath!” She craned her head around to look at him. He had exclaimed too slowly for her sudden appearance, and wondered what else had surprised him.

She saw his eyes widen even further, looking mesmerized, and tiled her head in confusion. Slowly the Commander then started make his way towards her, his hands still held in front of him. Would a Fereldan normally do that? Approach a wild wolf with no weapons? No, no they wouldn’t. She tensed, ready to flee. When he stopped again. “What a magnificent beast” she heard him breathe out.

Sylvia didn’t understand why she felt so proud to hear that. Her whiskers quivered and her ears twitched. She moved one step closer to him, and watched the Commander’s face lit up happily when he noticed that. He cooed softly to her, coaxing her to come closer, whispering praises and endearments she’s never heard before. But then she stopped herself. What was she doing? She should be running away as fast as she could. By the Creators, the Mark was still visible on her left forepaw. If he saw her Mark, he would know instantly who she was. She hesitated, looking for a way to escape, and was saved by her pack leader appearing. Commander’s head whipped over to stare at the new wolf, his hand finally going to his pommel. The grey wolf circled around the human widely, and came to stand at her side. With a glance, she padded away from the Commander, careful to hide her left paw with the other wolf’s body from view. She could smell him relax when they were far away enough.

She yipped her thanks to the grey wolf, before shifting back again. She was too close to the village to stay in wolf’s shape. She shivered, again regretting her missing boots, and walked back towards the Commander.

When he was in her view again, she realized what the noise she heard was. He was carrying a longbow, and shooting at a tree. Well, attempting shoot a tree. She watched with amusement as he failed miserably at his task. He was… atrocious at it. As she watched, he somehow managed to get an arrow caught between his cloak and the bow and accidentally unstrung it. Sylvia couldn’t help the giggle that leaked out, and the Commander whirled around, still half tangled with the bow, his hand flying towards the pommel. She was instantly on guard, crouching to either pounce or run, but the Commander was already lowering his hand.

“Maker’s breath, I didn’t hear you there!” He apologized, then he looked over her. “What are you doing in this snow with no shoes on?” Sylvia looked down, remembering how her boots still lay by the bed. She shrugged at the Commander, letting a trickle of magic warm her feet. “Dalish do not wear shoes often, Commander. I wished to feel the snow with my feet.” Dread Wolf take her if she show him any weakness. He stared at her dumbly, and she quickly gestured to his entangled bow, needing to change the subject. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“What? Oh, this. Ah. I guess you saw that miserable display then?” Commander blushed, making Sylvia snort. “At least you know it was miserable.”

The Commander looked away from her, as he tried to untangle the mess. “Yes, well… I have never been one for bows.” Sylvia watched with amusement as he somehow entangled himself even more thoroughly, an unstrung bow now wrapped around half his left arm. She folded her arms across her chest and smirked. “Clearly.”

The shem struggled for a few more moments before giving up. Dejected, he reached for his dagger at his belt, intending to cut the bow off of him, but Sylvia quickly stopped him. “Wait. Don’t cut it off. It’s a waste of a finely crafted bor’assan… ah, what’s the word? Baw? Bow? Bow, and a perfectly fine bowstring.”

The Commander glanced at her. “Lady Lavellan, you have just witnessed my best attempt at untangling myself.”

Sylvia just couldn’t help it. She laughed loudly, bending over to wheeze out as her lungs refused to take in more air. She laughed hysterically, the long weeks, _months_ of tension bleeding out as she gleefully laughed at the ridiculous shemlen looking sheepish with half his arm tangled up. She laughed, until it was too painful to continue, until she had laughed away all the fears and pains she’d buried within herself. When she finally managed to right herself, wiping away the tears, she walked over to the Commander and deftly pulled him lose from the ensnaring bow, still chuckling quietly. The Commander looked at her with a surprise. “Thank you, Lady Lavellan.”

 _Was he always this polite?_ She wondered. Pulling the longbow free, she expertly strung it again before handing it back to the Commander. “You’re welcome, Commander.” That was when he smiled at her in response, grinning like a boy just given a treat, and she blinked confusedly. Sylvia hadn't even known that he could smile like that.

Looking into his warm golden eyes, Sylvia suddenly realized that she always referred to him as the templar or Commander. Never once did she refer to him with his name. But with him smiling so genuinely at her, Sylvia couldn’t deny that she had finally met the man underneath the suffocating titles she tied him with. Cullen Stanton Rutherfold.

She looked at him. She really looked at him and saw him, perhaps for the first time. Cullen had light blond hair, curling at the edges. His eyes were golden – that much she did notice before – and had a strong jaw hinting at his unbreakable willpower. She saw the jagged scar cutting through his upper lip, and briefly wondered about how he had gotten it. His eyes were lit up with mirth, his face gentle and warm as he smiled affectionately for her. Sylvia felt her heart stutter as she took his smile in. Nobody had ever smiled at her like that before. Cullen had decided not to wear his usual armor for this special exercise, and instead only wore the thick furred cloak over his simple clothes. The fur around his shoulders was black and red. Bear fur, she decided. It made him look a little like a lion.

It wasn’t the first time Cullen had shown himself, she thought. In fact, Cullen had been nothing like the templars she hated so much. And yet her stubborn mind had refused to let her see the man as he was. Sylvia had allowed the lyrium singing in his blood to distract her from the truth, and felt her shame burning hot at the tip of her ears. She dropped her eyes, unable to look at him any longer.

“Lady Lavellan?” He sounded concerned. Of course he did, he was a perfect gentleman. She was just too spiteful to realize that until now, she berated herself. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” His soft voice murmured, and she stammered, coming back to reality. “Yes. What? No! Ah. Creators! I’m sorry!” She winced. Dread Wolf take her now. Cullen stared at her, clearly confused.

Sylvia steeled herself, collecting her thoughts before speaking slowly. She would right her wrong. “Commander, I have an apology to make. Since the moment we met, you have carried yourself with utmost respect and professionalism that I have all but thrown away into a blighted nug for all intents and purposes. I have attacked you without a provocation, and I did not even apologize properly for it. Afterwards, I have been completely, irresponsibly rude towards you every chance I had. And yet you still saw fit to carry me to my cabin last night when I was too… indisposed to do so myself.” She took a large breath. Creators guide her, this was  _hard_. “Ir abelas, Commander. I am truly sorry.” She hoped she didn’t sound too strangled. She peeked up through her lashes, wringing her hands, worrying while awaiting his reaction.

Cullen looked at her as if she had grown two heads, his eyes wide with bewilderment. She silently cursed herself. Had she been that bad? Yes, of course she had been. Then he suddenly dipped into a low sweeping bow, his eyes playful, mouth twitching into a crooked half smile that turned his features remarkably handsome. She couldn’t help but notice how his scar twitched over his lips, dancing in the moonlight. “My lady, your most humble apology has been accepted. Maker willing, there will be no need for any more in the future.” Relieved, she smiled back at him, the soft expression unfamiliar on her face.

“Now Commander, may ask as to why you are standing alone in a forest, tangled with a bow?” She wiggled her eyebrows at him, and his smile immediately fell as he regarded the longbow in his hand.

“Honestly? I could never get the accursed thing to work in my entire bloody career. Tomorrow I am planning to train some of the recruits as archers, and there may be a slim chance I may have to demonstrate. Maker willing, it won’t come to that, but…” Cullen trailed off, grimacing. Remembering just how horrible he had been, Sylvia could guess where his thoughts were going.

“Commander, we can hardly have you embarrassing yourself in front of all those recruits.” She gently nudged him, and Cullen nodded “I know. That’s why I thought I would give it a practice shot. I hadn’t realized I have forgotten every blighted thing about using a bow though.” Sylvia considered him for a moment. “All you have to do is demonstrate? You won’t have to train the men yourself?”

Cullen looked at her quickly “Maker, no! If I train the archers myself they would be a deadly force, destroying Haven and Inquisition all in one.” Sylvia nodded, grinning. “No doubt about it. Commander, if you swore not to tell others about what I show you now, I am willing to teach you the basics of using a longbow the Dalish way.”

“You? But you’re a mage!”

She pursed her lips. “I am a Dalish elf before I am a mage. We handle bows since we are toddlers, Commander.” She felt that wave of familiar annoyance pass over her, which she tried to ignore. She had treated him for months with undeserved prejudice too. And not many shemlens knew of Dalish culture. And especially not templars.

“I’m sorry lady Lavellan, I did not mean to offend. If you think there’s any hope left for me, I would welcome any kind of assistance you could offer. And I swear I will not repeat the instructions you give me.” He spoke solemnly, his eyes sparkling bright, and Sylvia felt a pang of guilt once again.

“Alright. Take a stance and aim at the target.” Cullen moved promptly under her gaze, and Sylvia winced inwardly. _Creators, this was going to take long._

She started to circle the tall shem, examining his posture with a critical eye. Words flowed from her lips, repeating the familiar elven words she’d heard so often as a child. In the common tongue, her instructions sounded alien to herself.

“First of all, relax, Commander. You are way too tense. Think about it like a swordplay. If you are tensed up, your muscles are jerky and you get tired quickly, don’t you? Your responses slow down, and you take more shocks from the blows. You want your muscles moving fluidly. And don’t use your arms to draw the bow. You want to use your shoulders and back muscles.”

A thought struck her then, and Sylvia cocked her head at him.

“Commander, are you even using a proper draw-weight bor’assan? Let me see“. She reached out for the bow, as Cullen pressed it into her palm. Taking a steady breath, she flexed and drew it to a full draw, the memories of her childhood flooding back with the motion. It had been many years since she had drawn a bow, but the motion still felt natural to her. She struggled to pull it to a full draw, and nodded with satisfaction. It was heavy enough for a shemlen man. Looking back over at Cullen, and sweeping her eyes over his body, Sylvia guessed he had a warrior’s build. It was hard to tell through so many layers of clothing he wore, but Sylvia’s killed enough templars to know how they were usually built. She passed the bow back to him.

“You make it look so effortless” Cullen commented, taking the bow back gingerly. Sylvia laughed at the wistfulness in his voice.

“Commander, I assume you make swordplay look effortless. And yet you have trained for years to hone your skills to seem so graceful, have you not? It is the same. Now, take the stance again and try to relax this time.” Cullen took the stance again, and Sylvia bit her lips in an effort not to sigh.

“Commander, you needn’t spread your legs so far apart. Try to take a more natural stance.” She laid her hand on his outer thigh and pressed gently, until he shuffled his feet closer together. ‘Not a templar. Not a templar. Not a templar.’ She chanted in her mind, ignoring the painful grip digging into her own thighs, spreading her wide open in her memory. She couldn’t help the light sheen of sweat that accumulated on her brows.

“Think about how you stand while you hold a sword in your hand.” Cullen immediately shifted into more relaxed position. A stance all templars took when they were readying their swords against mages. The stance those templars had taken against her, as they tied her wrists together. Sylvia bit her lips again, hard enough to draw blood, but standing behind him, she knew he couldn’t see. She made a mistake, and she would make up for it. She promised herself she wouldn’t run.

“Good,” Sylvia talked softly, hoping he wouldn’t hear how it trembled. “Now the only thing we are going to change is how you grip your weapon. You know you must swing your sword with your shoulders to get a decent force behind it. It is the same with bows. Using only your arms, it just isn’t enough. Sure, you can pull it, but muscles shake, aim is off, and you tire faster.” Sylvia ran her hand over his hands, adjusting the grip into a correct one. He was surprisingly warm to her touch.

“Remember how you are gripping the bow now. That’s the correct way to hold it.” Cullen nodded, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Now bend your elbow a little, no, just a little, yes, like that.” Her hand adjusted the angle of his left arm, tugging until it was just right. “And now use your right hand… here, you grip the string like this… good… and lift up, yes, and pull back slowly with your back muscles… no not like that. Here. Do you feel the place I am touching you on the back? Use the muscles there. Yes, like that, and bring the bow down as you draw. Good.”

Sylvia took a step back to observe, taking in a shaky breath. He _almos_ t had it. His posture was perfect, and Cullen just needed an arrow to sit in his grip. And he needed to breathe better. Sylvia arched her brows, noticing how his chest heaved with each labored breath he was drawing in. He was breathing far too heavily to aim properly. Sylvia briefly wondered if the bow’s draw-weight was too much, though she dismissed the thought quickly. There was no way that much weight was too heavy for Cullen. She’d felt the muscles coiled beneath the heavy clothes as she’d adjusted his stance, gained through years of training.

“Remember that feeling, Commander. That’s how you draw a bow.” Sylvia smiled, pleased. “Now, you are going to imagine that there is an arrow, and you are going to release the string. You have to control your breathing, Commander. If you hold it, or breathe too heavily, it will affect your aim. You want to keep it slow and steady.” Cullen nodded again, and Sylvia continued. “Aim with both of your eyes. Don’t try to keep one closed, it doesn’t work well. You need both your eyes. Now while you exhale slowly, let go of the string. Do nothing exaggerated, just let go.” The bow twanged, and Cullen slowly lowered it. He looked as if he was memorizing every feeling in his body, and Sylvia smiled. He probably was doing exactly that. Cullen was no novice to combat art. “If you are ready, Commander, one more time.”

Sylvia barely needed to make any adjustments by the third time. Cullen was a very quick learner. By the fourth draw, she was showing him how to hold the arrow, and to aim down its sights. By eighth draw, he was starting to hit the tree consistently.

“Very good, Commander. You are a fast learner.” Sylvia commented. She knew praises were as effective as any tool when it came to training. She leaned in closely to check on his aim, struggling to keep a straight face as she felt the lyrium thrumming rapidly in his blood.

‘Not a templar. Not a templar. Cullen. Cullen Rutherfold.’ Sylvia kept the chant firmly in her head as she lightly grazed his hand to adjust the aim. “Feel the wind, Commander. You have to adjust for how strongly wind is blowing. Memorize how strong the gust is now, and you will have to adjust accordingly tomorrow.”

Sylvia could have cast a barrier to block the wind, but she didn’t want to push it. No matter how strongly he stressed the “ex”, the lyrium in his blood sang the templars' song to her. She felt his shudder and his struggle to control his breathing through her hands, and leaned over, studying him closely. Was he sick? He did look a little flushed.

“Are you alright?” She asked him, just as he let the arrow fly. It thudded heavily into the tree bark, hitting the mark, and Sylvia nodded, pleased. “It seems you are. Well Commander, I believe I have taught you everything I can in one night. And I don’t think you will be embarrassing yourself tomorrow.”

Cullen straightened, and smiled his half-smile at her, once again warming her up. “Thank you, lady Lavellan. May I walk you to your cabin?” Sylvia nodded, knowing he wouldn’t leave her to walk back alone through the woods. After gathering the scattered arrows, she walked back to Haven together with Cullen. Not quite comfortable yet, but she was glad to notice her insistent blood lust was gone. Sylvia heard her Assan’s cry above her as they left the comfort of the quiet forest.


	13. No Longer a Templar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's pov of archery practice

Cullen slid into his tent, and removed his heavy cloak. Folding it neatly, he placed it next to his armor on the stand, and sat down on his cot, staring unseeingly at his table. It was again, covered in mountain of paperwork he had to sort through. He ran his hand through his hair, sighing, and rubbed his face. Cullen could feel the coarse stubble against his hand, and absentmindedly reminded himself to shave. He knew he needed to rest, but Cullen did not want to face the demons in his dreams yet again. So he lit a candle and moved over to work through the pile of reports instead.

But Maker help him, Cullen just couldn’t focus at the moment. It was too soon after the strange time he had spent in the woods with the Herald. Lady Lavellan, he corrected himself. She had made it abundantly clear she loathed that particular title. His cheeks burned as the memory of her touches danced through his mind. He ran his hand through his hair again, and sighed. He wasn’t going to get any work done tonight.

Putting the report back down, Cullen gave in to the visions, allowing the night’s events to replay in his mind.

*~*

_Thunk_

Cullen shook his head in disgust, as the arrow he shot embedded itself in a tree. Three trees to the right of the one he’d been aiming at.

 _Maker, there is no hope for me, is there?_ He grumbled silently, as he glared at the stubborn piece of wood held in his hand. He wanted to toss it in disgust, to throw it in a pit of foul temper, but instead lowered it with a sigh, knowing he’d regret the moment he gave into his anger.

 _Andraste preserve me, this is getting ridiculous._ He turned, intending to gather the arrows that was strewn all over the small clearing. He took a step forward, only to almost bump into a black mass of fur.

He grunted in surprise, as the huge black wolf sprang back with a warning growl, its eyes wide with surprise. He scrambled backwards, raising his arms up in a warding off position. _Where in the Maker forsaken Void had that wolf appeared from?_ It was monstrous in size – standing even taller than his waist. Cullen’s never seen a wolf even remotely close to that size before, in his life. Not even those blighted wolves back during the fifth Blight.

But as his eyes finally took in the beast clearly, he couldn’t stop the involuntary gasp, the quiet words almost reverent. “Maker’s breath!” He whispered, almost as if someone else was muttering them. “What a magnificent beast.”

The black wolf’s coat was jet black, its edge shimmering in the darkness of the forest. But the moonlight glistened on its fur, sparkling like tiny diamonds woven into its pelt. He could see the strong muscles flexing underneath its pelt, flexing fluidly, hinting at unimaginable power and speed. This was the apex of hunters of nature – the predator that roamed the mountains with nothing to fear. Its black eyes shone with cunning intelligence, and Cullen took an involuntary step towards the wolf, mesmerized.

As a Ferelden, he disliked wolves like any other men, but this one was obviously special. This beast was simply _magnificent_. He spoke to it softly, coaxing the wolf to come closer, hoping it would stay for a while longer, until a grey wolf had appeared beside it. It was also huge, though not as big as the black one, and with its sudden appearance, his Ferelden - and common - sense had finally kicked in enough for him to realize just how dangerous these wolves were. Thankfully, they had simply padded away, leaving him stunned in the middle of the forest, wondering if he had imagined the entire encounter. He wondered briefly what Lavellan would think of the black wolf. He was pretty certain Dalish enjoyed the company of animals… Or was that just their hallas?

Shaking his head, Cullen returned to gathering the arrows, and resumed his pathetic attempt at shooting the trees. Again and again, his arrows flew in the strangest directions, until he was startled out of his misery by _her,_ giggling behind him. _How did she move without making a whisper of a noise?_ He grimaced as she readily crouched into a battle stance as he whirled around.

“Maker’s breath, I didn’t hear you there!” Cullen started, hoping she wouldn’t run away, though it looked as if she would flee at any moment. She was disheveled, her hair blowing wildly in the wind, her thick coat crumpled. Then his eyes settled on her feet, and he doubled back.

“What are you doing in this snow with no shoes on?” He demanded, perhaps a little too harshly.

“Dalish do not wear shoes often, Commander. I wished to feel the snow with my feet.” She replied tersely, and Cullen blinked. He wasn’t too certain of her customs, but to him that seemed a little extreme. To wear no shoes in this snow? But he let the matters go, unwilling to anger her further. Thankfully, Lavellan didn’t seem too offended by his lack of knowledge on Dalish culture.

Knowing how foolish he must look, he struggled to untangle himself from the bowstring that was wrapped around his arm, cursing himself inwardly. At least, Lavellan seemed to be enjoying his misfortune, looking amused for the first time since he’d met her. “Yes, well… I have never been one for bows.” Cullen started, as somehow he got even _more_ tangled up.

“Clearly.”

Giving up, Cullen reached for the knife at his belt, sick of the bow ensnaring him.

“Wait. Don’t cut it off. It’s a waste of a finely crafted bor’assan… ah, what’s the word? Baw? Bow? Bow, and a perfectly fine bowstring.” Sylvia waved her hand, stopping his reach for the knife. Cullen paused, wondering at the strange elven word she let slip. Was the common tongue not her native language? The elven word sounded sweet on her tongue, somehow musical and mysterious.

“Lady Lavellan, you have just witnessed my best attempt at untangling myself.”

He wasn’t quite expecting her to laugh so hard at his comment, as she bent over and wheezed, gasping desperately for a breath as she shook with laughter. His cheeks flushed a little in embarrassment as he realized how ridiculous he must look. But nothing could have prepared him for the moment when she stepped in close and untangled him from the bow. Since the Breach, she had never been within three feet from himself (while she was conscious). The sudden closeness was quite unnerving, as he inhaled her scent. She somehow smelled like wildflower and spring despite being in the middle of winter mountain. He could feel her magic winding around her softly as she warmed her feet. His blood (or lyrium inside it) had instantly warmed at the feeling, and he couldn’t help but smile at her as he thanked her for freeing him from the blighted bow.

Lavellan looked like he had punched her, and Cullen quietly cursed himself, taking a step back to give her some space. He didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable around him. But instead of running off like he’d expected her to, Lavellan gave him a sudden apology that had him flailing around for some sort of response. It was just been so unexpected, considering her behavior until now. Then, he saw her peeking up from under her long lashes, and had to swallow hard at the heat that stirred below his belt. He swept into a bow to accept the apology, trying to lighten up the atmosphere, as he could feel her practically radiating tension.

Surprising him even further, she offered to teach him how to use a bow, and Cullen’s confusion reached its peak. Lavellan clearly hated him for what he was. Andraste guide him, she growled at him as an attempt at insult when she was being scraped off the tavern floor the night before. And yet, here she was, offering him a piece of her Dalish self. Still he needed all the help he could get, and he refused to question the turnabout Lavellan was showing towards himself. Sadly, it didn’t take long for him to realize his mistake.

Lavellan started to instruct him in her soft voice, asking him to take a stance. He stood awkwardly, with his arms gingerly hanging onto the blighted bow, and soon Sylvia was circling him, shaking her head slightly.

“Commander, are you even using a proper draw-weight bor’assan? Let me see.” He wordlessly passed the bow over to her, shrugging. He had grabbed one of the bigger ones in the armory, not knowing one thing about it. Cullen’s seen some other men that struggled to draw it, but having been in fighting form for over a decade, Cullen knew he wouldn’t have a problem drawing the bow. But as he watched her draw the bow fully, he realized that she was much stronger than her slim for initially suggested. And she was, as usual, graceful like none other he had seen before. He wondered if it was a Dalish thing, or if she held unique grace.

When he took the bow back and readied to shoot, she started to _touch_ him. It was nothing unprofessional, as she corrected his awful stance. It was downright necessary considering how horrible he was at handling the longbow, but Cullen couldn’t help the way he flushed at the gentle pressure. Her long elegant fingers were all over his body - Maker, so many things to fix! - and he struggled to keep his head from straying anywhere else but the longbow in his hand. _This_ was a mistake, he thought helplessly, as her hand pressed down onto his legs, warm and soft. He just prayed that his endurance would win over this unwarranted desire.

Her hand softly touched his, fixing his grip, and Cullen tried to remember what the correct grip should be like. She was still murmuring soft instructions to him, and he drank in every word she spoke. Her hands continued to roam over his body, touching, rubbing, _distracting_ him. _I should have worn my armor_ , he thought desperately. Then she finally took a step back to survey his form, and Cullen thanked the Maker silently for the cold wind that had reddened his face, hiding his heated flush from her sharp gaze.

When she finally told him he was ready, Cullen had to agree he had improved greatly, despite his distracted mind. He straightened up, proud of himself for this new achievement, and they walked back to Haven together. She walked close enough for him to feel her warmth.

* * *

Pulling her boots on, Sylvia stood up and strode out to where the recruits were training, as she wanted to see Cullen’s demonstrations. She had trained him, and she would see the job through. As she passed the campfire, she sent Varric a scowl. Satisfied at his uncomfortable look, she continued down the steps to arrive at the training. She had come just in time.

Clad in full armor as usual, Cullen was drawing the bow in front of thirty odd recruits. His face was set with Commander’s confidence, but she could see the slightly tense lines in his limbs, and knew he was nervous. She caught his eyes and gave him a slight smile and a nod. Relax, she mouthed at him. She saw Cullen take a slow breath and loose the arrow. It flew straight and buried deep into the target. She grinned, satisfied at both herself and his achievement. Cullen loosed four more arrows before motioning his lieutenants to begin the training.

 Happy at their success, she turned around and went back to Varric, and saw that Dorian was there too. Good.

Sylvia walked over to the camp fire, and crossed her arms, looking pointedly at the two shuffling awkwardly. Varric spoke first. “Hey pup, how are you feeling?” She continued to hold her silence. There were more shuffling.

“Look, I know we took the joke a little too far. I should have taken you back to the cabin, but truthfully I was just as out of it as you were.” Dorian added. She kept on staring. Varric sighed, then threw his hands up. “Fine! We’re sorry. Happy?” Sylvia considered, then nodded.

“You two are lucky it was the Commander, and not some other templar.” She warned them. “You ever leave me alone with one while I’m that out of it, I’ll burn you two alive.” She broke off. “But you are right. Commander isn’t a templar anymore.” She admitted. She regretted speaking as soon as Dorian’s face split into a knowing grin. “You two are _impossible_!” She stalked off toward the chantry.


	14. In Your Heart Shall Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia finally goes off to close the Breach

Sylvia was told to rest up while Cullen organized the conscripted mages for the march toward the Breach. She didn't like it, but knew there wasn't much she could do to help the Inquisition more than what she was already doing. Instead, Sylvia took to talking to her newfound companions during the day, and roaming the forests with her wolf pack during the night. When the dawn peeked over the tall treetops of the forest after each night, she prayed to the Creators in the woods before returning to Haven. She even showed her Assan to Dorian and Solas, before sending him off with a letter for her Keeper updating her on the situation regarding the Breach. She hoped that warning the Keeper about the corrupted future she had witnessed could keep her clan out of the harm’s way, no matter the fate that awaited her.

After the harrowing experience at Redcliffe, Sylvia cast off the shell she’d retreated into. It was still strange – and downright uncomfortable in some cases – to be interacting with shemlens, but Sylvia knew she couldn't afford to be as withdrawn as she had been. There was no way she could plug a hole in the sky by herself. Sylvia knew she needed support from her companions, rather or not they had pointed ears or fangs and furs, and if she was being honest with herself, it was nice talking to people who knew nothing of her bizarre connection to wolves. To companions who did not fear her or judge her damned. One day, she mused, listening to the rowdy banter thrown about the tavern, she may even learn to think of them as friends.

Sylvia still didn't like Vivienne much, to put it mildly. The shemlen mage’s views were as clear as Sylvia’s bells, as she always spouted some nonsense about how the templars were useful tools. Sylvia snorted at that, shaking her head. She didn’t even know where to start, when it came to the matters regarding the templars.

Solas regaled her with wild tales he had learned from the Fade that kept her entertained for hours. They argued often regarding the Dalish elves, often leaving her fuming and frustrated, but both felt the enigmatic bond between them, and the mutual respect they were slowly nurturing for each other.

Varric's stories weren't as refined, or philosophical as Solas’s dream tales, but they were equal parts hilarious and captivating, keeping her entertained for hours. To her relief, the durgen’len distracted her from the impending task of closing the Breach quite successfully.

Sera was just… _odd_. Sylvia didn't know what to make of that crazy flat-ear. It was... refreshing, she supposed, to see a flat-ear that wasn’t a meek, foolish servant for once. And Dorian became a treasured companion for her. Perhaps, she could even consider him to be a friend, despite him being a Tevinter. The man never stopped flirting, or talking about himself, but he was smart and sincere when it counted. Sylvia could appreciate that, and their shared experience of the corrupted future tied them together, finding strength in one another.

And Blackwall told her of how glad he was to have joined Inquisition. She enjoyed having the honorable man around too. And Fen'Harel help him, he could drink! And so could Iron Bull, but he was huge. And had a very raunchy mouth that had her rolling on the floor, choking on laughter.

Between the taverns and her furry wolves, the marked day crept closer slowly. The task loomed over her, slowly snuffing out her spirit, the worry festering in her stomach, until she was invited to the war room meeting in the Chantry. When she arrived, all the leaders of Inquisition nodded to her, though continuing on as if she was always there. She listened amusedly as Josephine chided Cullen for antagonizing the foolish shem Roderick.

"If I offend the man so easily, perhaps _he_ should try leaving me alone." Cullen replied, his annoyance blatantly obvious in his clipped tone. Then he looked at her, and spoke with his Commander voice.

"The best of the mages are ready, lady Lavellan. Be certain you are prepared for the assault on the Breach. We cannot know how you will be affected."

She didn't think she would _ever_ be ready to close the Breach. But she nodded anyway. They were to begin marching at dawn the next morning.

*~*

She looked at the Mark crackling on her hand, watching it respond to the proximity of the Breach. She took a deep breath and moved even closer. Behind her, she could hear Cassandra and Solas shouting out the instructions for the mages.

"Mages! Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you!"

Somehow, Sylvia felt each and every mage there was at the temple. She felt them kneel down on one knee, pounding the staff down into the ground to brace themselves. She struggled forward, even closer to the Breach. It was resisting her, but she didn't falter. She would see the Breach closed. She had already seen what would happen if she failed. The Mark began to sizzle. Mythal protect her, she could _not_ faint from pain.

She reached up into the Breach, shooting her left arm forward and connecting it to the Mark. The pain slammed into her arm, blistering, _biting_. She bit her lips against the foreign magic clawing at her arm. She would not cry out. Soon, the Mark began to consume her as it had the last time. _No, I won't let that happen this time!_ She reached out, felt the pool of mana that mages behind her had provided for her, and poured that into the Mark instead. She. Will. **Not**. Fail.

The shockwave sent everybody sprawling. Sylvia dragged herself up, willing the pain in her arm away. At least she didn't faint this time, she thought dazedly as Cassandra helped her up. "You did it." She whispered, her voice filled with wonder. As if waiting for her words, a thundering cheer went up, as every living soul gave a cry of joy. The Breach was closed. She had succeeded.

*~*

When they got back to Haven, everyone immediately started celebrating. Encouraged by lack of demons falling from the sky, Sylvia joined in with others. There was singing and dancing and drinking, and Sylvia chose to stick with drinking with her friends.

When Cassandra came to talk to her, she was already on her fourth mug of... something. It was something cheap, but her mood more than made up for it.

"Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is sealed. Word of your heroism has spread." Sylvia glanced over at her. It didn't look like Cassandra had started celebrating yet. Creators, did the leaders of Inquisition ever relax?

Well, Sylvia could suffer through one more serious conversation. She was happy. "You know how many were involved. Luck put me at the center." Seeker said something about strange luck, as Sylvia finished her drink. Dread Wolf taker her, this was going to give her a killer headache tomorrow. Was Cassandra still talking? But it did not matter. The Breach was closed, and the world was saved! Sylvia could return to her clan, and forget the past nightmarish months she’d been forced to endure. Sylvia sniffed, her thoughts turning to the new people she’s met through the Inquisition, her mood souring a little. Though the circumstances that that had brought them all together had been disastrous, Sylvia knew she’d miss the eccentric members she’d traveled with.

Then the warning bells began to ring, freezing her blood in place. Her sharp ears caught Cullen’s shout over the chaos.

"Forces approaching! To arms!" She sprinted towards him with Cassandra, the warm haze that had been settling on her dissipating quickly.

*~*

"Cullen?" Cassandra shouted when they reached the gate.

"One watchguard reporting. It's a massive force, the bulk over the mountain." Cullen informed them.

"Under what banner?" Josephine asked. Did it matter?

"None." Cullen replied. "None?" Josephine echoed her thought.

Haven's gates shook as something pounded on It. "I can't come in unless you open!"

Trusting her instincts, Sylvia opened the gates to see a strange young boy pull his daggers out of a templar bruiser.

"I'm Cole. I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know."

"What is this? What's going on?"

"The templars come to kill you." Sylvia stilled in horror. Templars were coming. For her. Cullen's angry voice shocked her out of the memories threatening to overwhelm her.

"Templars? Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?"

"The red templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages." What in the Void's name were red templars? Cole pointed, "there".

Her eyes followed Cole's finger, and widened in shock at the monstrous figure that appeared over the ledge. Creators guide her, what was _that_ _?_ She forced herself to focus on what Cullen was saying, his voice was keeping her grounded in reality.

"I know that man... but this Elder One..." He knew the man?!

"He's very angry that you took his mages." Yeah, she could tell. The army coming her way was proof enough of that.

"Cullen! Give me a plan! Anything!" Did she just say his name? Yes, yes I think I did. First time ever too. Why was she noticing that?

"Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can!" Cullen ordered her, and Sylvia sprinted out, obeying instantly. Just this once, she would answer to his commands. As she pulled crackling electricity to her hands, Cullen unsheathed his sword behind her. Oh Elgar'nan protect her. He's never unsheathed his sword before. They were in trouble.

"Mages! You - you have sanction to engage them! That is Samson. He will not make it easy! Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!" That man certainly knew how to whip up an army, she briefly mused, noticing the way his voice shook the very air. But then she was running towards the trebuchets with the soldiers, and there were templars rushing to meet them. Thank the Creators Cullen had insisted on checking the calibrations every chance he got, she mused, as Sylvia watched one of the soldiers firing the huge war machine despite the howling red templars.

The battle was a bloody one. The red templars were stronger and faster than any templars she had ever fought before. Countless soldiers fell around her as they tried to keep the enemy off the trebuchets long enough for them to reload and fire. Circle mages were covering them to the best of their abilities, but the strongest mages were drained from closing the Breach earlier in the day. This was not good.

Then the red templars began to Purge, Smite, and Silence the mages.

Sylvia fought the familiar wave of sickness as her connection with the Fade was severed brutally. Swearing under her breath, she rolled out of a sword strike, and backtracked hastily. She tried to cast, but her magic evaded her. Cursing, she dodged another wild swing from a templar before her eyes briefly caught the sight of Cullen’s furred cloak, as the Commander fought alongside a group of soldiers, trying their best to keep them off of her little group protecting the trebuchets. He smashed his shield into a red templar in front of him, and started towards her, and Sylvia realized that he thought her to be defenseless. She was wearing light Dalish armor in middle of hostile templars without magic.

Sylvia looked up just in time to see the red templar Cullen had smashed turn into… something. She had no word for it, but the creature – for it was a man no longer – had long claws and red lyrium growing grotesquely out of its back. It started to swing its claw toward Cullen's unprotected back, and Sylvia cursed loudly in elven once again. Fenedhis, there was no way she was going to keep this secret any longer, was there?

With a familiar motion (Creators, how many months has it been?) she drew the hidden throwing knife from her armor and threw it with deadly accuracy at the monster's eye behind Cullen. It let out an ear-splitting scream, and Cullen whirled around, driving his longsword deep into it. As soon as the blade left her hand, she pulled out her curving Dar'Misu out from its hidden sheaths. Sylvia was never helpless, not after the incident five years ago. With the daggers in her hands, she cut through the red templars like a whirlwind. Red templars may be strong, but she was faster, her wrath was fiercer. She had begged a passing Antivan Crow to teach her the way of blades. She had trained until she fainted from fatigue. She was her clan's best hunter for a reason.

After a while, there was a break in the wave of templars. She quickly loaded the trebuchet and fired it at the mountain, causing a landslide to bury some of the enemy army. Earning a cheer from the soldiers around her at the sight.

Then a dragon came soaring and destroyed the trebuchet. Fenedhis! Will this nightmare _ever_ end?

She somehow managed to get people to follow her as she ran for the gates. Cullen was there, rushing everyone back into the village and he smashed the gates shut after she came through.

"We need everyone back to the chantry! It's the only building that might hold against... that beast! At this point... just make them work for it." Sylvia's ears twitched at his voice. There was despair and bitterness seeped into those words.

She ran through the village, killing the red templars that had broken through the fences and saving what villagers she could. Her Dar'Misus were covered with blood all the way down to the hilt. There was blood and gore splattered all over her. In fact, she couldn't see her armor anymore underneath the blood. She felt sick from the red lyrium pulsing through the templars, but forced herself to keep moving. By the time she had circled around the village and gotten to the chantry, everybody was already there.

"Move! Keep going! The Chantry is your shelter!" She heard Roderick's voice, urging the refugees. She ran in last as soldiers closed it and watched as Roderick fell. Cole grabbed him and walked him over to a chair. "He tried to stop a templar. The blade went deep. He's going to die." Cole told her. Then Cullen found her.

"Lavellan! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us." _Where did his sword go?_

"I've seen an archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that." Archdemon? In the Fade? What? Her brain was overloaded.

"I don't care what it looks like. It has cut a path for that army. They'll kill everyone in Haven!" Cullen shouted. It calmed her down. It was so strange, she almost laughed.

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald." Cole told them. She briefly wondered how he knew, before pushing the thought away. She could analyze everything later. Right now, she needed to act.

"I don't care what he wants. How do I stop him?" Cole knew the Elder One the best among them at the moment.

"It won't be easy. He has a dragon." Doesn't mean that he was helpful, I guess.

"We know what he...!" Cullen stopped himself. They didn't have time for this. Instead, he turned to her. "Lavellan, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide."

"We're overrun. To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven." He had to know this, right? Then it dawned on her.

"We're dying, but we can decide how. Many don't get that choice." Cullen's voice was bitter. He was a fighter to the end. Sylvia considered. She knew the pain of inability to choose her death.

Cole's soft voice turned her attention back to Roderick. "Yes, that. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies." Sylvia waited. "There is a path..."

If there was a path, people could get out with time. Avoid the army. Bury the templars under the mountain once it was safe. With time, the Inquisition could survive.

"If that thing is here for me, I'll make him fight for it. Go. I'll distract him" she told Cullen.

"And when the mountain falls? What about you?" Cullen asked, but she had no answers to give him.

"Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way..." He trailed off, his eyes pained. He knew as well as her that she would not survive.

"Inquisition! Follow chancellor Roderick through the chantry! Move!" Cullen started barking orders giving her a moment to collect herself. Sylvia knew she could trust him to save the people she had come to care for. She watched his back, wishing she had been less cruel to him. _May Mythal protect them all_.

Cullen soon came back with few soldiers, back to where she was breathing quietly, steeling herself for what lay ahead. "They'll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the treeline." She nodded and followed the soldiers, gritting her teeth in determination. She would not fail this. But his last words made her pause and look back. "If we are to have a chance - if _you_ are to have a chance - let that thing hear you." With that, he turned and left.

"Dorian, Blackwall, Sera! Come with me. The rest of you, go and make sure the people survive!" Sylvia called, then headed for the trebuchets.


	15. In Your Heart Shall Burn pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of In Your Heart Shall Burn quest. Cullen finds Sylvia frozen nearly to death.

Block, stab, parry, turn, cut, stab, stab, jump. Sylvia tried her best not to die. At least not yet. Swarms of templars made that a little hard though. Eventually, her group ran out of healing points, and Sylvia tossed the last one at Blackwall, when they finally got a little respite. Finally! The trebuchet was aimed at the right direction, and she screamed at her friends to move. They hesitated a little, but listened. Praise to Mythal, they ran full speed back towards the Chantry.

Then the dragon decided it would be fun to sit on her. She barely jumped out of the way in time, landing badly. Her head thunked hard against the ground, the silver bells in her hair ringing and clattering loudly as she jerked. From the feel of things, her right shoulder was dislocated, but she pushed herself back up.

The _thing_ that had been leading the army approached her, and Sylvia looked back over her shoulders, desperately searching for a way to evade him. But the dragon was blocking any possible retreat, trapping her. She could hear the song red lyrium was singing to her from the monster. It was just so _wrong_.

"Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more." He was willing to talk. _Thank the Creators_.

"No more! Why are you doing this? What purpose could this serve?"

"Because you are my enemy. Because you stand in the way of destined power. Because I can. Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The _will_ that is Corypheus! You will kneel." Well, I at least got his name, she mused.

"I will not yield!" She shouted at him. "I can't... I won't just let you do this!"

"You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not." He lifted a strange artifact in his hand. "I am here for the _Anchor_. The process of removing it begins now."

Unbelievable pain shot through her arm as his words rang out across the clearing, and Sylvia clutched desperately at it.

"It is your fault, 'Herald'.' You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as 'touched,' what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens"

Sylvia couldn't help it. She fell to her knees.

"And you used the Anchor to undo my work! The gall!"

"What is this thing meant to do?" She screamed, trying to drown out the pain. He wanted to talk? She was happy enough to keep him talking.

"It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it." He grabbed her arm and dragged her into air. He was tall. Much taller even than The Iron Bull. She grimaced in pain.

"I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods, and _It Was Empty_!" He threw her against the trebuchet, and Sylvia felt the shock through her dislocated shoulder, and nearly fainted. The jingle of the bells drew her back from the blissful oblivion, the edges of vision slowly being corroded by darkness.

"The Anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling."

Sylvia grabbed a sword lying nearby with her left hand. It was nearly time.

"So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation - and god - it requires."

She saw the signal arrow. They were above the treeline. Thank Mythal, she nearly sagged with relief, they were _safe_.

"And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die." Not by your hand, she thought.

"You're an arrogant fool. Your pride blinds you. Good to know." She smiled at him wolfishly, her elongated fangs pressing down on her lips. Using the last burst of power, Sylvia brought the sword down upon the rope tying the trebuchet’s arm down with a snarl. As Corypheus turned around to see what she had done, Sylvia fade-stepped away from the monster, away from the dragon. She refused to die by its hand. She would die, among the trees, to be embraced by the forest she loved. Sylvia would find her peace at last in the woods. Then, she fell hard.

*~*

When she woke, _everything_ hurt. Sylvia tried to assess the damage she had taken, experimentally flexing each limbs. One dislocated shoulder. Two broken ribs. At least her lungs weren’t punctured – that was a small miracle in itself. Her left foot felt wrong, probably broken a broken ankle. _I’m in big trouble_.

Lying still to stop herself from jostling her injuries, Sylvia took in stock of the situation. She had used up all her lyrium and elfroot potions during the fight protecting the trebuchet. Her mana was dangerously low, flickering and fluttering like a small candle about to be extinguished by a harsh gust of wind. If she healed herself, she wouldn't have any left. No, she didn’t have enough to even heal herself fully.  But she couldn't possibly move with two broken ribs. If they punctured her lungs, she would die. If she stayed in the caverns, she would die. Her only hope of survival was to catch up to the Inquisition, but she was in the middle of a winter forest. Exposure without protection was going to kill her for sure. And at the moment, she had nothing on other than her light Dalish armor drenched in blood. She didn't have enough mana left to fully shift into a wolf either, and the Inquisition soldiers might shoot her on sight if she approached them in her wolf's form. Fenedhis lasa! How was she going to survive this?

Sighing, Sylvia cast the weakest healing spell she could, using the very minimal amount of her mana. Despite her best efforts, her mana pool dwindled alarmingly, but she just barely put the ribs back together. Creators willing, it would be enough to keep her lungs from being punctured. Slowly, carefully, she pulled herself up to her feet, testing her left foot. Yup, definitely broken. Groaning, she limped over to the wall. Biting her lips, she smashed her right shoulder against it, and screamed, feeling the shoulder pop back into place. The black abyss was once again lurking around the edges of her vision, beckoning to her, but with her clenched jaw, Sylvia blinked her tears away. She swung her arm experimentally, testing the arm. It tingled lightly but the piercing pain was gone. As long as she didn't jostle it too much, it would stay.

Using her staff as a walking stick, she limped forward. She briefly considered fixing her broken foot, but decided no. She would need her magic for warmth more than her foot. She knew the dangers of exposure to nature.

*~*

How long have I been walking for? I have no idea. There's no tracks in the snow. Am I going the right way? The snowstorm is covering all tracks probably. There was a broken wagon earlier... and an abandoned campfire too. It's probably the Inquisition. Who else would be here? Huh? Why's there snow in my face? Oh. Probably should get up. Ow. Right, broken foot. What else was wrong? Cold isn't too bad. It's numbing the pain somewhat. Wait, why am I cold? What happened to the warmth spell? Fenedhis! When was my mana used up completely? Ow. Should probably stop falling down so often. Hope the others made it. Wonder if my pack managed to get out before I buried Haven? Probably did. They were going out for hunt far out in the forest so they didn't run into inquisition soldiers. Ow.

In the distance, Sylvia saw the campfire with dying ambers. Ambers in snowstorm? She must be almost caught up to the Inquisition. But she couldn't get up. She just didn't have the energy anymore.

"Ma ghilana mir din'an, Falon'Din." _Guide me into death_. She whispered softly. "I make this sweet sacrifice of duty willingly of my own free choice. Take me now, Fen'Harel, to Falon'Din, and keep the others away from the Beyond. Be satisfied with me." Her body dropped into the snow. She didn't even feel cold anymore. She never stopped her whispered prayers. Anything to keep Falon'Din's eyes on her rather than her Inquisition friends.

* * *

Cullen plowed on through the snow. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew they had to keep moving. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. He kept his mind focused on the simple pattern.

"Commander! The head count is complete for each group, ser!" Head count? Right. I ordered that some time ago, didn't I?

"Keep the head count. Order the villagers to check the number every ten minutes. If there are stragglers, we need to know." His response was automatic. Left, right, left, right.

"Yes ser!"

"And send Tanner to me."

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Le... right? Left. Right.

"Commander!"

"Tanner, take scouts that are least tired and scout ahead. Villagers cannot move much further, and we need a shelter to hide from this blighted snowstorm. Make sure you make a headcount before you go, and each scout _must_ have a partner. In this storm, we are not risking anything."

"Right away, ser."

Left. Right. Left. Right. Lavellan. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Lavellan.

Cullen cursed himself, dragging his thoughts away from the misty image of her exotic face. He was needed here. The villagers and soldiers looked to him for leadership. He couldn't afford to be thinking like this. People were dependent on him now more than ever. How long has it been since Tanner left to scout ahead?

"Commander! There is a small valley up ahead that is protected from the wind. It is large enough for a camp!" Thank the Maker. A news that wasn't life threatening for once.

"Spread the word. We will make camp there." Left. Right. Left. Right.

*~*

"Commander, the tents are up for the villagers!"

"Commander, the temporary infirmary has been set up."

"Commander, the guards have been posted, by your order."

"Commander, the headcount is done. Everyone is accounted for, ser."

The number of reports finally dwindled as the chaotic process of setting up camp ended. Cullen felt weary enough to fall asleep standing. Even his demons wouldn't be able to haunt his dreams tonight. But he couldn't rest. Not yet.

"Jim, if anybody needs me, tell them I will be out scouting back for the Herald." He would go look for her. He owed her that much at least.

"Commander, wait. We are all tired. Wait until the storm blows over to look for her." He turned to see Leliana and Josephine. They thought she was dead. Honestly, he did too.

"No. I will go now. She threw herself at that monster so that we would have a chance. We owe it to her to look." He would not waste one more second arguing. He strode on.

"Commander, I will go with you." He looked over to see Cassandra striding towards him, looking as exhausted as he felt. He simply nodded.

"You and you there, grab those torches and follow me." Will he ever feel warm again? Will he ever see her smile again? The snow was up to his thighs now. Maker's breath, will it ever let up?

They had walked for about fifteen minutes when he saw them. "Stop!" He squinted at the darkness. Something was lurking just beyond the light cast by torches. He heard Cassandra draw her sword. Wolves. He wanted to laugh. On top of everything that's happened, _wolves_? Then he saw the gray one. He had seen this wolf before.

"Cassandra, wait. Don't move."

"What? Cullen, these wolves aren't just going to go away. They're hungry, they're hunting. They're..."

“There! It's her!" He ran towards the wolf, leaving baffled Cassandra behind. Lavellan was draped over the gray wolf. Cassandra hesitated for a beat before following, soldiers running after him with torches.

Maker's breath, she was covered in frozen blood. Was it hers? He couldn't tell. He scooped her up off the back of the gray wolf, and hastily wrapped her in his thick fur coat. She was like _ice_. Cullen looked down at the gray wolf. "Thank you. Thank you." His voice sounded hoarse. Then he was sprinting back towards the camp.

As he ran, he found himself praying to her elven gods, willing them to keep her alive until he could bring her to the healers. Then he heard her whispering, something in elven. Then... something about sacrifice? Keep the others from Beyond. Grimacing, he held her tight and ran faster. No. He would not let her die.

"Rylen! Send for the mages! Herald is in immediate need of healing!" He shouted as he ran past his captain. He had to get her to the infirmary. Rylen was immediately running too. He heard the villagers’ voices picking up. Camp was getting livelier. He didn't care.

Cullen finally found the infirmary tent and rushed in, laying her carefully down on a cot. As soon as he did, the healers swarmed over her. Somebody handed him his cloak back. Wordlessly, he put it back on. It smelled like wildflowers. It smelled like _her_. A few moments later Solas, Vivienne, and Dorian rushed in. They started to cast fire spells immediately, allowing the healers to peel off her frozen armor. Cullen turned and left the tent.

He paced. He couldn't help himself.

_Blessed are they who stand before_

_The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

Canticle of Benedictions. Benedictions 4:10. It didn't help. He kept on packing. Then stopped short. The gray wolf was there. It was sitting on its haunches, right by the infirmary. It was a huge wolf. Villagers huddled far away from it. It was keeping the people away. Good.

"Commander!" He turned to see Rylen striding up to him. "Is the Herald...?" Cullen nodded towards the tent. Rylen visibly relaxed, then turned to look at the wolf. "I noticed that the wolf followed you into the camp. It wasn't trying to attack anyone, and you had left it alone, so I ordered the soldiers not get too close to it for now. Should I get the archers?"

Cullen considered. "No. That wolf carried the Herald toward the camp for who knows how long. It was protecting her. We will leave it alone for now." Rylen saluted and walked away. Cullen went back to pacing.

*~*

When Vivienne finally emerged from the tent, Cullen immediately questioned her.

"She is in a bad shape. Her mana was completely drained. We assume she was trying to warm herself, otherwise she probably would have frozen to death before getting anywhere near here. The blood on her armor thankfully wasn't from her, but she had a broken ankle she had walked on for far too long. Two of her ribs were broken and reattached, presumably by herself. She had avoided puncturing holes in her lungs, but she didn't have enough mana to heal herself completely. We have mended the bones properly. Her right shoulder was dislocated, then forced back into place. She also had blunt force trauma to the right side of her head. Possible concussion. I don't know how she survived for so long." Vivienne shook her head. "But she got to us on time. Few more minutes, and she may have been beyond our help, but we got to her. Dorian is warming her up still. I have exhausted my mana, and Solas is making potion for her. With time, she will make a full recovery. You can see her now"

Cullen clenched his teeth. It had been too close. He held the tent flap up, moving to enter. The gray wolf got in first.

She was lying down with blankets covering her. Inside the tent, it was swelteringly hot. Dorian was radiating heat like a furnace. The wolf padded up to her and put his face over her hand and gave a low whine. Cullen grabbed a seat next to Dorian.

"It was too close." Cullen told Dorian. Tevinter nodded. "Too close." He agreed.

* * *

"What would you have me tell them? This isn't what we asked them to do!" Sylvia blinked slowly as now-familiar voice crept into her ears. They twitched.

"We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way!" Seeker's voice followed close behind. She groaned.

"And who put you in charge? We need a consensus, or we have nothing!" Why was Cullen yelling? It was giving her a headache.

"Please, we must use reason!" Josephine's voice made her ears twitch again. She forced her eyes shut and willed the voices away. Leliana's voice joined in on the argument. Sylvia sighed.

She turned her head to see her gray wolf watching her with concern. What? She blinked. The gray wolf was still there. Her jaw fell open in shock. What was he doing here? She shook her head. And why was everything hurting so much? Arguing got louder. She pushed the blankets off of her and sat up, hissing at the fresh burst of pain. Her wolf gave a disapproving growl. She stood up slowly. Somebody had changed her clothes. Whoever had lent her their clothes was much larger than her. The fabric clung loosely, shirt covering all the way down to her mid things. I hope they kept my armor, she thought worriedly. She limped out. Her wolf came to her side, letting her lean heavily on him. He gave another disapproving growl. Yes I know, she thought at him.

The argument had died down by the time she had reached the campfire. Josephine and Leliana looked dejected, huddling together in cold. They were sitting by the fire, their heads bent down. Cullen was standing a little distance away. His face a mixture of despair and regret. Cassandra was looking at the maps. Her face was even more grim than usual. Sylvia sighed. This was a disaster. Her wolf whined softly in agreement.

 

_Shadows Fall And Hope has Fled_

_Steel Your Heart The Dawn will Come_

_The Night is Long and the Path is Dark_

_Look to the Sky For One Day Soon_

_The Dawn will Come_

 

Sylvia looked over to Mother Giselle. Her voice was much stronger than Sylvia would have believed. Leliana's beautiful voiced joined in perfect harmony.

 

_The Shepherd's Lost and His Home is Far_

_Keep to the Stars The Dawn will Come_

  


Inquisition's people started to join in. The song swelled in both volume and power.

 

_The Night is Long and the Path is Dark_

 

Cullen's voice finally joined in. His low voice sounded angelic.

 

_Look to the Sky For One Day Soon_

_The Dawn will Come_

 

Villagers knelt in front of her. Soldiers saluted her.

 

_Bare Your Blade and Raise it High_

_Stand Your Ground The Dawn will Come_

_The Night is Long and the Path is Dark_

_Look to the Sky For One Day Soon_

_The Dawn will Come_

 

Sylvia gratefully followed Solas away from the shemlens still worshiping her when he asked for a private word. When he told her he knew of a place to go, she briefly wondered how this mysterious elf knew everything they needed to know exactly at the right moment. But considering how lost the inquisition was in middle of Frostback Mountains, she wasn't going to complain.

Without her pack of wolves, they wouldn't have survived the journey to Skyhold. Her packs hunted for the inquisition endlessly, and kept the people fed. They also handled scouting. She was too injured to scout with them, but her wolves led the inquisition safely through the Frostback Mountains to the forgotten keep. It took them ten days to reach Skyhold. Sylvia recovered slowly.

 


	16. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia is named the Inquisitor, and settles into Skyhold

Inquisition settled quickly into Skyhold despite the state the keep was in. Cobwebs, spiders, and rubble were everywhere, but people seemed happy enough to have solid walls around them. Sylvia was promptly given the largest quarters that was in a livable state. She supposed it was a form of apology Leliana and Josephine was giving her for assuming she was dead. Sylvia walked slowly over to the four leaders standing around in at the Skyhold's gate. Her gray wolf was by her side, ready to catch if she fell. Sylvia still had long way to go before she reached full recovery. Cassandra motioned for her.

"Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage." Cassandra walked up the stairs leading to the courtyard. Sylvia and wolf followed (She was going to have to name the pack leader soon if he planned on hanging around her all the time like this).

"This threat is far beyond the war we anticipated." Oh Sylvia could agree with that. The first darkspawn magister with a pet archdemon. She shivered. "Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven.You are that creature's rival because of what you did. And we know It. All of us." Sylvia suddenly realized that Cassandra was luring her to the large steps of the Skyhold overlooking the courtyard. Leliana was standing there with a huge sword held for her.

"The Inquisition requires a leader: the one who has _already_ been leading it. You." Cassandra continued on. She stared down at the courtyard in shock as people gathered to watch her. She was trapped. I can see the hope in their eyes, she realized. Sylvia was suddenly terrified.

"Are you insane? They expect a savior, someone with divine power!" She whispered hoarsely. Cassandra didn't budge. "They want you."

"Because they think I'm chosen!" Sylvia knew better than anyone. If she was a chosen one of any god, it was of Dread Wolf.

"They believe you are chosen because of what you have _done_. What you have _inspired_. In all of us. Without you, there would be no Inquisition. Where you lead us, what kind of leader you are... that is up to you."

Could I possibly accept this much responsibility? She hesitantly reached out and grabbed the sword Leliana was offering her. Creators, it was heavy. And nearly as long as she was tall. Whoever had made this sword did not have a slender elven mage in mind. She felt the weight of the sword in her hand. It was the weight of Thedas. Sylvia had been carrying since she fell out of the Breach. She realized this would make it official though. She would no longer be able to run. Her mind went to Corypheus. She didn't _want_ to run. She wanted to watch him choke as tree roots crushed him.

"I will lead us against Corypheus, and I will be an ambassador." Her voice rang out loudly in the silent courtyard. "I'm an elf standing for Thedas. The Inquisition is for all."

"Wherever you lead us. Have our people been told?" Cassandra called out.

"They have. And soon, the world!" Josephine called back from the courtyard.

"Commander, will they follow?" Cassandra's voice rose. Cullen moved to the front of the crowd.

"Inquisition! Will you follow?" His low voice riled up the crowd easily. People shouted out in assent.

"Will you fight?" Cullen did not let up. His arms raised, exciting the people even further.

"Will we triumph?" Commander's tone said it was not a question, but a certainty. The shouting grew into a roar. "Your leader! Your Herald! Your _Inquisitor_!" Cullen unsheathed his longsword smoothly and pointed up towards her.

Using a little magic to aid her, she pushed the sword high up into the sky, as the shouts grew thunderous and echoed against the high peaks of Frostback Mountains. Wolves' howls joined in above the roar. She thought she could hear Assan's screech high up in the sky. Sylvia felt her old life slipping away. Never again would she go back to being the First of Lavellan clan.

*~*

Sylvia strolled around Skyhold that was accessible at the moment. The place was huge. Having lived her whole life in wide plains and lush forests, the keep foreign to her. But somehow she didn't feel uncomfortable like she had in Haven. If anything, the keep felt welcoming. A home she didn't even know she had been searching for.

Her companions were scattered over the courtyard, assigned to temporary field tents until the restoration of the keep was completed. Some were angry, others were panicked. She did her best to reassure them, swearing vengeance against Corypheus. Iron Bull even dressed her up as a common solider to meet some of the Inquisition members. Sylvia didn't know what to think of the experience, and decided to work through it later. As she explored Skyhold, never ending flow of soldiers and messengers milled around her. She heard soldiers instructing each other to report to Commander regarding suitable locations for armory and training areas. Creators, did he get any rest?

She headed up the tall tower to find Leliana. The spymaster was setting up nicely, her spies busying themselves with carrying crows up the steps. She heard Leliana softly tell Cullen she was sorry as he left. Leliana turned towards her. "The names of those we lost." Sylvia stilled. The scroll in Leliana's hand was too long. As Leliana tried to blame herself for the attack at Haven, Sylvia tried to reassure her. Sylvia didn't think it was a bad thing to care for the spies. They were better than Corypheus. A victory won by stooping to the ancient thing's level was no honorable victory, in her opinion, and told Leliana so. She looked like she had much to think over, and Sylvia left her.

After talking with Dorian and Solas making sure they were settling in well, Sylvia found herself walking up to Cullen's makeshift table nearby the gate. He was practically buried under work. She squeezed herself in between the soldiers making a circle around his desk, catching a glimpse of her Commander.

"Send men to scout the area. We need to know what's out there. We can't let Inquisitor's wolves do all the work" Cullen barked at the soldiers. Two saluted and left, only to be filled by a messenger running up. "Commander. Soldiers have been assigned temporary quarters." She inched closer.

"Very good. I'll need an update on the armory as well." Poor boy dawdled for a moment too long. "Now!" Cullen's irritated voice sent him running. Sylvia finally managed to scooch into the space left empty by the leaving messenger. When Cullen saw her, he immediately began his report.

"We set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an archdemon - or whatever it was. With some warning, we might have..." He rubbed his neck. "Do you _ever_ sleep?" She didn't think he did. He was always working. Cullen continued on, ignoring her question.

"If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw... and I wouldn't want to. We must be ready." She then saw the weight boring down on him, the weight of the world needing to be saved from an ancient magister. She understood only too well. "Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. Your wolves are bringing in hunted spoils continuously, enough to keep the people fed. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor" She had to steel herself before asking. "How many were lost?" The answer was better than she expected. "You managed to save all the villagers. Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor."

A thought struck her. "You report to me now?" A templar under her command. The thought was so unnatural. "Will that be a problem?" She _was_ a mage.

"I was brought on to oversee the Inquisition's forces and offer military advice. That hasn't changed." _I am not a templar any longer_ , she could hear the unsaid words clearly, and smiled apologetically at him. "We needed a leader; you have proven yourself."

"Thank you, Cullen." Commander. You idiot, Commander. She kicked herself mentally, and heard her wolf's (maybe I'll just call him Fen. I suck at naming things) tail twitch with amusement. Cullen gave her a warm half-smile, and suddenly she had to fumble for words. "Our escape from Haven... was close. I'm relieved that you" oh no. "that so many made it out." Her wolf looked up at her and gave a yip. I am going to go strangle myself now.

"As am I". Cullen's quiet response didn't leave much to say, and she turned to leave. Cullen stepped in closer, halting her. "You stayed behind. You could have..." She knew where his thoughts were going. I can't believe I survived, she thought.

"I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word." He swore to her, and turned back to his work. She padded away, somehow feeling warm and safe despite everything.

*~*

Her meeting with the Champion of Kirkwall left her even more depressed and worried. Grey Warden Order was an honorable one, dedicated to protecting all from the darkspawn and blight. To think it had connections to Corypheus made her sad. After stopping Cassandra from beating Varric, she felt that she needed a break. After telling Varric it was safe for him to let go of Bianca, she trudged off to sleep, Fen following closely in her wake.


	17. Fen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia comes clean about her wolf pack to her advisers.

Sylvia turned around, slowly taking in the sight that lay in front of her. She was back in Haven. But it wasn't the ruin that Inquisition had desperately run from. It was quiet, even serene. There was no one there. I must be dreaming, she realized. But it was so real. Was her connection to the Fade strengthened by the Mark? "Why here?" She wondered out loud.

"Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you." She whirled around to find Solas looking at her quietly. He seemed both amused and surprised. After a moment, he motioned for her to follow. They went to the holding cells beneath the chantry. The place she had woken up from after the Breach. Her shackle lay on the floor.

"I sat beside you while you slept, studying the Anchor." Right, Varric said he kept her alive while she was unconscious. "I'm glad someone was watching over me." Solas dismissed it. "You were a mystery. You still are." Sylvia waited.

"I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn't produce results." Of course she did. Sylvia snorted. "Cassandra's like that with everyone." Laughing, Solas led her out of the chantry again.

"You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade? I was frustrated, frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra... or she in me. I was ready to flee." If I was him, I would have run away long before, she thought. "But you stayed."

"I did. I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts. I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then..." Her memory dragged up the first rift she closed.

"It seems you hold the key to our salvation." Solas turned to face her again. "You had sealed it with a gesture... and right then, I felt the whole world change."

Sylvia teased. "Felt the whole world change?" Solas smiled at her, knowing he had handed her the ammunition. "You throw me off so easily. Even here." Sylvia laughed at that, enjoying the conversation until she woke up from the strange dream.

*~*

Sylvia ran over to Solas. He greeted her with a knowing smile. "Sleep well?"

"That was incredible. Do you regularly talk to people in dreams?" She thought of all the possibilities of tactical advantage that could come with. It could shorten the time spent between sending messages for Leliana.

"No. Consider that one more rule you have effortlessly broken in your rise to power." Oh. Sylvia tried not to feel disappointed.

"I had no idea that the Anchor would allow you to dream with such focus. It is truly remarkable." So dreams he dreamt usually weren't so realistic then, she realized. After questioning him about her new dreams, she left to head to her quarters, only to be stopped by a messenger requesting her presence in Cullen's new office. When she arrived, he was clearly agitated.

"Inquisitor. I've found where the red templars came from. Therinfal Redoubt. The knights were fed red lyrium until they turned into monsters. Samson took over after their corruption was complete." Sylvia's ears twitched as her horror grew. She remembered the monsters that attacked Haven all too vividly. "How do you know Samson?"

"He was a templar in Kirkwall, until he was expelled from the Order. I knew he was an addict, but this... Red lyrium is nothing like the lyrium given by the chantry. Its power comes with a terrible madness." Sylvia nodded. "The red templars swarming Haven were proof enough." Elgar'nan, Commander of Inquisition and General of Corypheus' army were from the same Circle.

"We cannot allow them to gain strength." Cullen said with force, bordering on desperation. "The red templars still require lyrium. If we find their source, we can weaken them _and_ their leader."

"I like finding the red templars' vulnerabilities _before_ fighting them head-on." Her little trick of surprise weren't going to work on templars anymore. The entire Thedas knew by now that she knew how to fight with daggers as well as her magic. She felt vulnerable.

"We'll need every advantage against what courses through their veins." Cullen agreed. "Caravans of red lyrium are being smuggled along trade roads. Investigating them could lead to where It's being mined. If you confront them, be wary. Anything connected to Samson will be well guarded." Sylvia nodded. It was a good thought. "Bring this matter up again during the next war meeting, and we will draw up a more detailed plan." She told him and left.

*~*

Sylvia stroked Fen's fur as she groaned inwardly. They've been at it for _hours_. Few were simple enough matters. Send soldiers out to ruins of Haven to check for any survivors. Scouts sent out to check for enemies returning to Haven. But what did she know about choosing a successor in Lydes? Or about the Imperial Court for that matter? She wanted to tear her hairs out by this point.

When Josephine finally said she had no more matters to discuss, Sylvia sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the Creators. As she moved to dismiss the meeting, Leliana cleared her throat.

"Inquisitor, I was wondering if I may inquire about your fighting abilities and the wolves?" Sylvia's hands balled into fists. She felt her face harden into icy mask. Leliana continued. "It is very unusual for a mage to have physical fighting abilities, especially those that do not follow the path of knight-enchanter. I did not get to see you fight myself, but the Commander and the Inquisition soldiers praised your skills quite highly." Spymaster didn't ask her the question directly. Sylvia gritted her teeth.

"I had my reasons for training myself with daggers. The famed Antivan Crow Zevran Araini passed through the Free Marches a few years back. He was running away from some of his former comrades in arms that followed him to Kirkwall. I went to... investigate when they came too close to the forest my clan was staying at. When I saw him fight, I asked him to train me. He did as thanks for my aid in killing the other Crows." Leliana looked surprised at the mention of her former companion, successfully distracted.

"What about the wolves?" Cullen glanced down at Fen. "There's no denying that the Inquisition may not have survived the attack at Haven without their help. But it is... unusual to see wolves scouting and hunting for humans. Does this have something to do with Dalish magic? Is there a chance they may attack our people?"

Josephine chimed in. "People are quite unsettled with the huge number of wolves that are prowling around within the keep freely. Considering that everyone knows how wolves have been keeping us alive, there has been no issues so far. And yet, if we are to receive noble dignitaries, it may be prudent to provide an explanation for the presence of wolves, or to even to move them out of Skyhold."

Sylvia wanted to run away screaming. She settled for hissing out the answer instead. "There is no Dalish magic that controls animals, much less wolves. I have an... affinity with wolves so to speak. It's not a Dalish thing." Fen stood up, placing a paw on her leg. She felt stronger with that small touch. Her advisors were shemlen. They wouldn't judge her.

"When I came to age, and received my _vallaslin_ , a pack of wolves in the area imprinted on me. They followed me around, and more and more wolves joined the imprinted pack. That's why there's so many wolves around now. I can't fully communicate with them, but I can understand their intents and they understand mine. They protect me, and they help those I associate myself with."

Cullen seemed intrigued. He knelt down on one knee next to Fen. "That is fascinating. I assume this is the pack leader? I have been meaning to thank you for helping my scouts and soldiers out so much. It has lifted a huge workload off of them with all the food your pack has hunted for us." That shocked Sylvia. A Ferelden thanking a wolf, it was so bizarre. She suddenly didn't feel so angry anymore. She smiled as warmly as she could at Cullen. He didn't know what it meant for her when he accepted Fen and his pack so easily.

"Were they at Haven as well?" Leliana asked, curious. Sylvia nodded. "They were. They kept to themselves away from the villagers then. This is the first time the wolves have been actively interacting anybody other than myself." She looked over to her ambassador.

"Josephine, do you think you can spin a story so that the pack can roam Skyhold freely without scaring the people?" She asked. Josephine sighed "I will see what I can come up with, Inquisitor."

"If it helps, the pack will stay out in the forest most of the time. They prefer it." Josephine just nodded. With that, the war meeting came to an end, and Sylvia left with Fen. She felt happier than expected, and retired to her quarters to rest.


	18. Chess Game

_Sister, Curly, Ruffles._

_Why didn't anyone tell me Crestwood was full of corpses_ before _I left Skyhold? Next time, I would rather not find out about them through having a corpse stick a sword through my tent._

_Searching for Author's friend and the Griffon is delayed. A rift opened up under the lake, and Crestwood is about to be wiped out. I am making it a priority to close this rift. Will send word once situation changes._

_Wolf._

 

"Of course you'd name me Wolf" Sylvia grumbled as she signed off her somewhat coded report. She wasn't used to writing reports - Cassandra and Varric were helping her. Varric chuckled. "What? You don't think it fits you? Wolves just love you. Plus, you fight like one too."

"Oh, no, Varric I know how wolf like I am." She gave him a sharp grin, letting her slightly elongated fangs show. She enjoyed how Varric gulped as he realized just how sharp her fangs were. (He didn't have to know about her shape shifting abilities yet). "I just expected more from the renowned author though. Sadly, it seems that I have overestimated your prowess with words."

Varric huffed indignantly as he ambled back towards the campfire. Her sharp ears caught him muttering, something about horrendous nicknames and an ungrateful elf. She snickered and went off to her own tent (wards set! She didn't want another corpse falling into her bedroll) to rest. They were going to assault the keep for the dam controls the next day.

 *~*

Will it _ever_ end? Fenedhis! It was _one_ fade rift. One! And yet, Sylvia had to assault and claim a keep, fight through Old Crestwood filled with more corpses and demons, and through endless twisting cave filled with _even more_ corpses and demons. Dread Wolf take her. If she smelled one more sodding rotting corpse, she was going to jump back into the Fade and never look back. And of course, the damn shemlen mayor had run away when his crimes have been revealed. Could this sodding day possibly get any worse? Soaked through to her bones, Sylvia stomped back to the keep in vain hope to dry herself with her friends.

 *~*

Sylvia turned slowly as she turned the sharp ringing of sword being unsheathed. She found herself staring down a longsword to a shemlen with a thick mustache. "It's just us. I brought the Inquisitor." The Champion jumped in. The warden lowered his sword slowly. "My name is Stroud, and I am at your service, Inquisitor." Yes, yes. Sylvia was too wet and tired of Crestwood to deal with niceties. "I need to know why the Wardens disappeared. Could it have anything to do with Corypheus?" When Stroud told her of his suspicions, Sylvia felt her dread grow. At least her disgusting trip to Crestwood wasn't for nothing. She was worried about the Calling the Wardens were hearing, and wondered how it was affecting Blackwall. He seemed to shrug it off too casually. Agreeing to meet at a tower in the Western Approach, Sylvia parted ways with the warden.

* * *

 "Ah, Commander. I was hoping you wouldn't be too busy with the silly recruits. Seems I managed to come at the most opportune time." Cullen glared up at the Tevinter that had just barged In. He was practically buried under his paperwork. As usual. "What do you want, Dorian?" He didn't want to have to deal with the spoiled mage's problems.

"As it happens, I have noticed you have a chess board. And I am quite a distinguished player. Could I tempt the strapping Commander away from his duties long enough for a game?" As Cullen started to decline the offer, Dorian continued. "That Is, I am assuming that you are good enough to play me. It wouldn't do for the Inquisition's military Commander to lose to a simple Tevinter mage, no? It is quite understandable if you must decline."

"Fine. I won't run away from a challenge. Lead on, Tevinter. We'll see if your skills can match your boasting soon enough." He knew he was being goaded into playing. He didn't care though. Cullen would happily wipe the smirk off the mage's face.

* * *

 Sylvia stepped through the door leading into the Skyhold garden. It was her favorite place in the entire keep. After the dreary trip into Crestwood, Sylvia sorely needed the peace the garden brought her. She hadn't expected to see Cullen and Dorian sitting together though. Sylvia walked closer, curiosity growing. Cullen's confident voice drifted into her ears. "Gloat all you like. I have this one."

"Are you... _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn't know you had it in you." Sylvia smiled. She could hear the smirk in Dorian's voice.

"Why do I even - Inquisitor!" Cullen moved to stand as she approached. She noticed how he nearly upset the board. "Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?" Dorian knew exactly how to goad the Commander, it seems. Cullen promptly sat right back down. "Are you two playing nice?" Watching Cullen and Dorian play made Sylvia relaxed. She enjoyed the change of pace from burning corpses, and couldn't help but smile.

"I am _always_ nice." Dorian smirked. Sylvia snorted at that, and felt Fen yip at her side. Even her wolf found that amusing.

"You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You'll feel much better." Dorian moved a piece.

"Really? Because I just won. And I feel fine." Cullen leaned back in his chair after moving his chess piece, smirking. Dorian seemed surprised for a moment before he shifted. "Don't get smug. There will be no living with you." Cullen turned his warm honey eyes on to her.

"I should return to my duties as well... unless you would care for a game?"

Sylvia was tempted to say no, until she saw Dorian as he walked away. He gave her a meaningful glare, and realized that her friend had set up the entire game for her. She sighed inwardly, knowing that she should try to familiarize herself with her Commander.

"Prepare the board, Commander." She hoped she didn't sound scared. She soon had to admit to him though that she had no idea how to play. Dalish didn't play chess after all. But Cullen didn't seem annoyed as he gently explained each chess pieces and the rules. Sylvia did her best to memorize them, while her hand rubbed Fen's soft fur. He was a good teacher. He never lost patience with her, and his explanations were easy to understand. Soon they had their game going.

"As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won - which was _all_ the time. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won..." Cullen moved another piece. "Between serving with the templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays."

It was so strange listening to him talk about his family. She had never thought this would happen, even few months ago. Her, of all people, playing chess with a shemlen, an ex-templar at that, and listening to his childhood stories. Creators, what has this world come to?

"You have siblings?" Sylvia never had siblings. Her parents died when she was young.

"Two sisters and a brother." Cullen didn't seem to mind talking about his family. Sylvia pressed for more. "Where are they now?"

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write them as often as I should. Ah. It's my turn."

"Then write to them." Sylvia moved her piece. "I will lend you my Assan. He is getting fat and needs the exercise. He's been too lazy lately." Cullen looked at her, surprised. "I would... appreciate that. Thank you, Inquisitor."

After a few more moves, Cullen smiled at her. "This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition - or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction." True, the man did nothing but work every chance he got. "We should spend more time together." He needs the break. No man could work that much and not feel the strain. Plus, Sylvia was enjoying the chess game. It forced her to think carefully.

"I would like that." Cullen's voice was low and gentle. "Me, too." The words were out of her mouth before she even realized she had said them. What was wrong with her?

Cullen's warm golden eyes softened at her. "You said that." How could a templar have a voice that soft? Sylvia felt her face flush. "We should... finish our game. Right. My turn?" Thank the Creators he didn't tease her. If it was Dorian or Varric, she would never hear the end of it.

All too soon, the game ended with her king being captured. "I believe this one is mine. Well played." Cullen smiled. She hadn't really hoped to beat him at it, considering it was her first time playing. "We shall have to try again sometime." Sylvia nodded, and helped him clean up the chess board. When she was done, she let a out piercing whistle, and soon Assan flew down to her. The eagle gripped her shoulders hard with his talons. She missed the fur bracers she had before.

"Here, Assan, as promised before. Don't worry, he won't bite." Sylvia looked at Assan pointedly, until the eagle ruffled his feathers. He wouldn't try anything to anyone after that. She turned to Cullen. "I assume you will leave off on writing the letters to your family unless someone reminds you. So, you will take Assan with you now, and will keep him until he returns from your family with their response."

Cullen rubbed his neck, and laughed. "Yes, I believe you're correct. Thank you, Inquisitor. He is a wonderful bird." With a snap of her fingers, Assan flew over to Cullen's metal bracers. With a wave, Sylvia trotted off, smiling at the Commander trying to handle her unusual eagle.


	19. Avaar With a Goat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia comes back from Fallow Mire and Storm Coast to an Avaar with a goat.

While she waited for Cullen’s men to finish setting up posts at the Western Approach for her arrival, Sylvia swept through the Storm Coast and Fallow Mire. She rescued those she could from the Avaar tribesmen, and recruited the Blades of Hessarian from the Storm Coast. It was good work – Sylvia was avenging and saving her people, and it was straightforward and simple. There were people attacking her, and she killed them. But she was so thoroughly soaked, that Sylvia though she would never be dry again.

Her nights were another matter completely. Her strengthened connection to Fade due to her Anchor had fascinated both Solas and her at first, exploring her dreams and conversing together many nights as they slept. But soon Sylvia discovered her nightmares were also sharpened into focus, just as her other dreams. Her realistic night terrors grew until Solas forced her awake from the dreams or one of her companions shook her until she stopped screaming. Solas did what he could to stop her from dreaming, giving her vile tasting potions, but it often wasn’t enough.

When Sylvia returned to Skyhold, she was wet, shivering, and exhausted. Waving away her concerned friends, she climbed to her quarters, peeled off her drenched armor, and promptly fell into bed. Fen wrapped himself around her, warming her slight body. Despite her worries for nightmares, Sylvia couldn’t stop her eyes from sliding shut.

* * *

 Solas dreamt. He always enjoyed exploring the Fade, but tonight he was more concerned for his friend he had come to care for. Sylvia was unlike any other he had met in his long life – and certainly not one he had come to expect from those that called themselves Dalish.

She did call herself Dalish proudly, and had chided him for belittling the efforts they made for trying to restore what once was. They may not get everything right, but they were making the effort, she said, unlike the flat-ears meekly allowing shemlens to order them about. Solas couldn’t help but acknowledge that she was right about that point, despite his misgivings about Dalish clans after his encounters.

Solas willed himself to feel for Sylvia, searching through the Fade. He soon felt her, far too easily. He knew she had an affinity for wolves, an affinity with _him_ , the Dread Wolf. Following the thread binding them, he pulled himself into her dreams.

He found himself in a beautiful forest, with clear sky above his head. He sniffed the air, with his elongated nose. Solas hadn’t expected to manifest as a wolf – he usually was himself when they conversed in her dreams – but soon he had caught her scent and stepped silently towards her.

Solas found himself rooted to spot in horror. In some distinct corner of his mind, he knew this was only a memory Sylvia was relieving in her nightmare, but the Anchor sharpened the dream, bringing everything into lucid focus. He watched as the templars grabbed Sylvia and raped her. He could see her struggling, tearing her bonds. Her screams grew until she choked on a shemlen shoving into her mouth.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Solas was breaching her most private and vulnerable memory, and it disgusted him. But he couldn’t tear himself away from her dream. He was powerless to help her, even here, even now. And he knew he should go – she would never forgive him if she found out he had trespassed so deeply into her wounds – but Solas felt the rage building inside him, until he was no longer tied to the ground. He jumped into the fray, and attacked blindly at the Fade created illusions. He was dimly aware of other dream-wolves besides him, tearing the shemlens apart alongside him. He woke with a growl rumbling in his chest, his mouth still tasting the copper taste of shemlen’s blood.

* * *

 “Inquisitor?” Cullen knocked at her door as he called out. “Inquisitor? May I come in?” Worry gnawed at his gut when there was no response. Maker’s breath, could an assassin have gotten into her quarters? He opened the door and strode up the stairs to her quarters. Cullen would rather deal with the Inquisitor’s ire than her corpse. However, when he reached the top of the stairs, he barely avoided the lightening strike aimed for his head. Cullen rolled, moving to unsheathe his sword in a fluid movement, until he caught sight of her.

Andraste guide him, she was naked, covered only in bed sheets. He felt his jaw slackening in shock, staring at her soft form barely hidden through the covers. Then the wolf’s warning growl dragged him back to his senses. He swiftly turned away, looking at anywhere but her bed, as he felt himself blush furiously. From the corner of his eyes, he could see her drenched armors thrown about haphazardly.

“Cullen?! What are you doing up here?” Sylvia squeaked, her voice pitched too high. She still sounded a little muddled from sleep. Maker’s breath, Cullen couldn’t remember how to speak properly.

“Inquisitor! Forgive me. I, uh… you weren’t answering the door and I had wondered if an assassin may have snuck in… and I didn’t realize that you’d be.. ah.. well, indecent, which of course you have every right to be, in your private quarters. I, uh… there was a matter that needed your attention.” Maker’s breath, he was rambling. Cullen rubbed his neck, still looking out the balcony. He kept the image of snow-capped mountains fixed firmly in his mind. He would _not_ think of her. He heard a rustle of cloth as Sylvia moved. He continued talking, desperate to distract himself.

“The soldiers alerted me to a… rather curious event earlier. One man was attacking Skyhold. The building. An Avaar, I think. With a… goat.” Cullen sounded ridiculous even to himself. “We have him in custody, ready for you to judge him.” Sylvia padded into his view, somehow looking concerned and confused at the same time.

“Creators, my magic just shot out when I heard someone coming up the stairs. Are you alright, Commander? I’m sorry, I was asleep.” Sylvia gently touched his arm, letting him know she was decent. Cullen finally dragged his eyes away from the windows. Sylvia had put on a dark blue robe, made of silk. Josephine’s addition to her wardrobe, he assumed.

“Yes, forgive me for the intrusion.” Cullen mumbled. Sylvia smiled up at him “You said an Avaar was attacking us with goats? Are you serious? Goats?”

Cullen chuckled. “Yes, quite. I saw the man myself, throwing those poor goats at our walls. I must admit I’m looking forward to your judgment regarding this matter.” Sylvia shook her head, looking more amused than ever, and swatted him. “Alright, Commander. I wish to see this Avaar with my own eyes, and you need to leave so I can change.”

Cullen quickly left her room, mumbling out another apology, and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath once he was safely down the stairs. _Maker’s breath_.

* * *

 Sylvia let out her breath once Cullen was gone, sinking down back onto her bed. She gripped her hands tightly to stop them from shaking. He couldn’t have chosen a worse timing to barge into her room. She was naked, vulnerable, and her nightmare was still too fresh in her mind. Sylvia had lied to him when she said she had attacked on instinct. She was in fact, quite aware of her outburst, doing her best to strike the templar down where he stood. The lyrium in his blood sang out to her, and in her confused state, she had struck out at her Commander.

Thank the Creators, he was an amazing templar. He would have died on the spot if he hadn’t rolled out of the way. Many had fallen before to her lightning. She shook her head, grabbing her clothes and changing quickly. Cullen had shrugged off her attack, too focused on his trespass into her privacy to realize how dangerous it had been. Sylvia swore to herself that she would get better control of herself. The Inquisitor couldn’t afford to strike down her own Commander.


	20. Fereldan Frostback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia and her friends go dragon hunting, and celebrates their victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for continuing to reading my crazy story!

“I’ll go!” Sylvia couldn’t stop how enthusiastic she sounded as she perked up. Her three advisors looked at her in surprise, and Sylvia immediately reddened. “I mean, I am willing to take my party to investigate these reports.” She shuffled her feet. Sylvia could feel Cullen’s smirk on her skin, and coughed.

She had been roped in to meeting countless nobles she couldn’t bother to even remember. She had been forced to sit through one too many nobles uttering knife-ear, and was eager to go out and blow off some steam. Thank Mythal, there was a high dragon sighting in Hinterlands.

She tried her best to look nonchalant under Josephine’s piercing gaze. “We can’t leave a high dragon alone, right nearby Inquisition’s post. We just can’t abandon them to those dragons. Plus, once the dragonlings are old enough, they will start roaming soon, and attack the refugees as well. We need to get that dragon sorted out.” Please, please, please. I can’t make it through another lord whatever shoving his hands into mine. “I will take a small team, scout the area out, and see what we can do to sort out this dragon mess before it becomes a problem. I will be careful.” Fen’Harel, please, oh please let me get out of here.

Her advisers relented, although Cullen seemed remarkably dissatisfied with the plan. But Sylvia was overjoyed. She ran through the keep, ignoring the surprised nobles, and gathered her friends. Iron Bull was more than happy to join her. She dragged Cassandra into it as well. Her family came from dragon hunters, after all. Solas didn’t seem all too happy with it, but she convinced that a capable healer should tag along when the team was going to be scouting a dragon lair. By the late afternoon, Sylvia was mounted on her horse and was trotting off to Hinterlands yet again with her friends.

*~*

“Andraste’s tits, Wolfie! I taught you the game only an hour ago! You can’t come right back and beat me at it. You knew how to play all along, didn’t you?” Varric grumbled loudly, as Sylvia smirked and pocketed the sovereigns strewn over the tree stump. She could see Solas and Blackwall grinning. They both had lost a fair amount to the dwarf before.

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Sylvia sang. Truthfully, Zevran had taught her the basics of Wicked Grace before, though she had forgotten most about it till now. He had taught her many things, even skills she was vehemently against learning. That long list included cheating at Wicked Grace. And while Varric was skilled, Zevran was a legendary character, one of the companions of the famed Hero of Ferelden. And he was as graceful and skilled at everything he did, as his reputation suggested.

“So Varric, are you up for another round of Wicked Grace? Or will you slink and drink away your defeat?” Sylvia challenged him, thoroughly enjoying the rare opportunity to do so as she cut the deck.

“You’re just evil, Wolfie. You won every last bit of coin I had on myself.” Varric complained. Surprisingly, Cassandra cut in. “I will give you a loan Varric. It is amusing to watch you get beaten so thoroughly.”

“Oh, you wound me Seeker.” Varric grasped at his heart mockingly, and Sylvia snickered.

“Or, I will let you bet your chest hair, Varric” Sylvia winked. Varric gasped in horror, and her entire party erupted into laughter. Sera ended up rolling on the ground.

Eventually, her small party dispersed for their own tent. Bull took the first watch. Tomorrow, they would reach the area infested with the high dragon and its dragonlings. Sylvia shivered in anticipation.

*~*

“Taarsidath – An Halsaam!” Sylvia heard Bull shouting as she cast her ice spells, freezing the dragon’s left wing to prevent it from launching itself back into the sky. The damned dragon was huge. Sylvia was enjoying this too much, she admitted. Looking at Solas trying to revive Varric, she knew others weren’t too happy about the fight they found themselves in, but Sylvia and Bull was thoroughly enjoying the pure adrenaline of the fight. She had been too cooped up in Skyhold with the dreadful shemlen nobles.

Sylvia smashed her staff down, freezing the dragon’s jaw for a moment, making it swallow the fireball it had been about to spit at Sera. Sylvia laughed freely. Dorian cast barriers over Blackwall and Cassandra hacking away at the dragon’s right forepaw, trying to topple it. Without it, the warriors would have taken serious burn damages. Of course, Vivienne had opted out of this particular scouting mission. She preferred to stay at Skyhold and converse with the nobles and Josephine. Sylvia snorted. Vivienne was missing out.

“Boss, look out!” Bull’s warning snapped Sylvia out of her mechanical attacks, and she fade – stepped away. Not a moment too soon either. Dragons’ fire breath scorched the grounds she had been on moments before black. Sylvia felt her magic pulsing in her veins, rolling off her skin in great heaving waves. She held nothing back. Her icy attacks left the dragon chilled, slowing it down. Until finally, Blackwall’s mace smashed the dragon’s foot and it fell. Fade – stepping, Sylvia ran up to the dragon’s neck, positioned her staff blade over the scales. In its death throes, the dragon swiped at her. Most of the blow glanced off the barrier she had wrapped around herself, but she felt her ribs crunch. Covering the staff blade with sharpened ice, Sylvia drove the point into the dragon’s neck with all the force she could muster. The beast let out its last gurgle as it finally went down. She hooted, and screamed in joy as she bounded off the dragon. “Enasalin!” _Victory_.

 

_Curly_

_We found the firefly we were looking for. Sadly, firefly wasn’t too happy to see us and thought a little bit of light would make us go away. Tiny didn’t like that too much. So accidentally, we put is light out. We are all coming back home now, with firefly in tow._

_Wolf._

 

Their homecoming was grand indeed. Sylvia rode her mount proudly at the head of the procession, with her companions following in a tight semicircle behind her. Behind them, number of horses dragged the huge cart with the dragon carcass in it. She beamed proudly as the bells rang and she pulled into the courtyard. The cheering was deafening. In a remarkably good mood, Sylvia stood in her stirrups, shooting sparks into the sky. Fen prowled towards her, looking proud of her impressive hunt. Soon, she handed the dragon over to Dagna and Harrit and moved to her quarters to wash off the grime.

*~*

When Sylvia walked into Herald’s Rest, Iron Bull was already past his third mug of something smelling like fire and dirt. “Inquisitor! Come! Have a drink.” Sylvia decided Bull was drunk already. He was slurring the words together. He poured her the dirt-fire thing. “To killing a high dragon like warriors of the legend!” He laughed and pounded the table.

“What exactly am I supposed to be drinking?” Sylvia wrinkled her nose at it. “Maraas-Lok” Bull drew the word out. Something qunari, and unlikely to get more out of him, she decided. She took a swig, and immediately regretted it. She coughed, bringing most of the vile liquid back up. Bull laughed and thumped her back. He continued to talk about the dragon, but Sylvia was too busy wiping the tears away from her eyes to listen. She barely caught the last phrase Bull rambled out into his dreadful drink.

“Taarsidath – An Halsaam? You said that during the fight too. What does it mean?” She asked once she could breathe. “Oh.” Bull looked surprised she asked. “Closest translation would be, ‘I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect.’“ Sylvia sputtered. “You shouted _that_ , while it was breathing fire at us?” Bull laughed and took another swig. “I know, right?” Sylvia just shook her head, and took another deep drink. She managed to keep most of it down this time, to Bull’s delight. Probably because the nerves in her throat died after the first, Sylvia idly thought. She was going to regret this tomorrow. But, she killed a dragon, and Dread Wolf take her if she didn’t indulge a little after that grand fight. She continued to listen as Bull talked about the dragons being glorious. She had to agree, and drank more, eventually toasting with him about being the badest thing, and… something about dragons? Her thoughts were no longer coherent. She was vaguely aware that Sera and Chargers joined them, but after the fourth dirt-fire, Sylvia lost herself to the laughter and celebration.

* * *

 Cullen squinted at the report in front of him, as the candle light danced. His pounding headache was growing, forcing him to reread the report for the third time. The words didn’t register in his mind. Sighing, he tossed the report on to his desk. This was going nowhere. It had been months since he had taken his last draught of lyrium, and the withdrawal symptoms were finally in full swing. He clenched his hands into a tight fist, trying to stop the shaking. His eyes inadvertently traveled to his desk drawer, where he knew his lyrium kit was. He clenched his teeth. Standing roughly, Cullen strode out of his stuffy office into the cool night’s air on the battlements. He needed to clear his thoughts. The chill air helped to cool his fevered skin. It was easier to ignore the need for lyrium out here.

His ears soon picked up the rowdy laughter drifting from Herald’s Rest. He knew his men and Inquisitor’s party were celebrating the hunting of a high dragon. Inquisitor had every right to do so, considering that killing a high dragon was no small feat. Cullen smiled as his mind replayed the memory of Inquisitor’s homecoming. She had been riding her mount proudly, smile large enough to split her face. Cullen briefly wondered if he should join in the celebration. He knew he wasn’t going to get any work done, and perhaps being around others would distract him from the lyrium kit in his desk.

His feet started to carry him towards the door that led to the top floor of Herald’s Rest. Anything to distract himself from lyrium. He almost didn’t notice a slight elf swinging her feet on the battlements. He whirled, looking once again to make sure it wasn’t a phantom image his troubled mind had conjured up. No, she was still there.

Inquisitor sat atop the battlement, her legs dangling in air. She held a mug in her right hand, and was drinking heavily. Maker’s breath, she could fall straight to her death. Without thinking, Cullen pulled her off the walls, wrapping his arms protectively around her small frame. She gave a surprised yelp, and laughed.

“Oh, Cullen!” Her words slurred together. How much had she drank? “Inquisitor, the wind could have knocked you over the walls! What were you thinking?” He sounded too angry. Cullen tried to lower his voice. “How much did you drink tonight?”

She laughed. Her voice somehow sounded like the birds. Soft and musical, relaxing. “If I fell, I would just fly!” Clearly one too many. He took the mug from her hand and sniffed. What in the Void was it? Sylvia saw him and laughed harder. “Maraas-Lok! Puts more chest on the chest! I’ve had over six! I think. At least I counted up to six.” She mused. Sighing, Cullen picked her up. She was so light. “Inquisitor, I’m going to have to bring you back to your chambers.” Sylvia only giggled, and downed the rest of the vile thing in the mug.

He trudged through the door that led to Cole’s spot, and strode down the stairs. He soon saw the tavern was filled to the brim with people. Suddenly Dorian was there. “Ah, Commander. I see you found our elusive little wolf. We were wondering if we had to send people out to search for her.” Cullen shot him an irritated look, but Tevinter didn’t seem to even notice. “Love, are you alright? I do hope you didn’t get yourself into trouble.” Sylvia clutched at the mage, and Cullen felt a dark pressure squeezing his heart. He didn’t want to think about what that meant.

“Dorian! Did you drink that stuff? Dirt fire thing. Bull gave it to me! It burns! Is there more? Please get me more” Tevinter chuckled. “Love, I think you had quite enough. You’ve drank most of your friends under the table. Quite impressive, really. Even Bull is down. But I think it’d be best if we let your strapping Commander take you to bed.” Cullen scowled at him. “Do make sure she gets there safely, will you? All those stairs leading to her quarter is a death trap for us drunks.” Dorian laughed and walked towards the bar. Sighing, Cullen crossed the courtyard and quickly moved through the hall, shouldering the door open. Sylvia began singing in his arms. Shaking his head, Cullen climbed the steps. At least she wasn’t cursing at him, he thought dryly. Sylvia had tried her best to growl insults the last time he had carried her.

Once he got into her chambers, he laid her down carefully on her bed. Moving clumsily, he removed her boots, putting them by the end of the bed, and eased her out of her thick overshirt. Sylvia mumbled in elven. Once he put the jacket over the chair by her desk, he fluffed the pillows and pulled the sheets back to lay her down more comfortably.

His head was suddenly flooded by the images of her he had seen the last time he was here. Her pale flawless skin wrapped in the sheets he was touching now. Barely hiding the swell of her breasts and hips as Sylvia pulled the sheet tightly around her. He felt himself stirring with desire.

The sound of Fen padding up the steps shook Cullen out of his thoughts. Looking over at the grey wolf guiltily, Cullen picked up Sylvia – Maker’s breath. He should not be noticing how soft she felt in his arms – then put her into the spot he had cleared for her on the bed. As he pulled the covers back over her gently, Fen bounded up next to her on the bed and curled up pressing heavily into her. Cullen approved, noticing how protectively Fen guarded her. He tried not to think of how he wished he could be her guard.

Making certain her doors were closed and locked fully, Cullen turned and left the room, with last long look at Sylvia sleeping peacefully with Fen. He didn’t realize until he was back in his office that the withdrawal symptoms had plagued him for days had disappeared.


	21. No Longer a Templar - Really

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen confesses that he doesn't take lyrium anymore to Sylvia.

Sylvia woke when Fen's weight started to suffocate her. Protesting weakly, Sylvia shoved against the gray wolf's hide, and felt him shift away from her slightly. The sly thing had half climbed on top of her sometime during the night. She saw the sunlight filtering through her windows, and climbed out of her bed stiffly. Creators, the headache that was developing in her head was massive. Leaning heavily on the furnitures, Sylvia stood and stretched. Then her eyes fell to a tray filled with water and food on her desk. Someone had anticipated she was going to be having a grouchy morning.

Padding slowly, Sylvia approached her desk and drank the water greedily. After two cups, the pounding in her head lessened somewhat, and she looked around her quarters.

She noted that her boots were again at the end of her bed, similar to how they were positioned once in Haven after her drinking spree with Dorian. Her eyes narrowed. She had been tucked into her bed, and her thick shirt was folded neatly on her chair. But whoever had tucked her in didn't change her clothes to sleepwear. Perhaps because that someone may have been a male templar? She barked at Fen, catching the drowsy wolf's attention. "Did Cullen bring me here?" She asked. Wolf yawned at her in response, and shook his tail. Of course it was Cullen. This was starting to become habit forming. One she wasn't too happy about.

Grumbling, she filled her copper tub with ice, and heated with fire spells. She smelled like Maraas-Lok, and wanted the scalding heat to wash away the last night from herself. Peeling her clothes off, she gingerly climbed in, and closed her eyes. She was going to have to go talk to Cullen about last night. She didn't remember much after the toast with Iron Bull. And she hoped she hadn't made a fool out of herself. Dread Wolf take her, she probably did. Should she apologize to him for the inconvenience? Or thank him for delivering her again to her quarters? She splashed in the tub, washing her hair. Void take her. Why did she think it would be a good idea to drink Bull under the table?

Letting her hair down to dry, Sylvia dressed in heavy wool. If she was going to talk to Cullen, she might as well get it over with. Pulling her boots on, she motioned for Fen to follow.

*~*

Greeting Solas with a smile as she passed through the rotunda on her way to Cullen's office, she opened the door leading out to the battlements. And ran straight into something hard. As she stumbled, an arm shot out to steady her, gripping hard. Sylvia couldn't stop the memories from flooding her as she was wrenched into the night when she had run into the group of templars in the forest. She looked up, dreading to see a set of blue eyes looking down at her. Her eyes met with golden ones.

"Inquisitor! I apologize. I didn't realize you were behind the door." Cullen's hand stayed on her, making sure she found her balance. It took all of her willpower not to flinch as the lyrium in his blood whispered to her.

"Commander. Were you headed somewhere?" Sylvia grit her teeth. She hadn't meant to hiss.

Cullen's eyes searched hers, worried. "I was just heading over to Leliana to discuss something. Are you alright?"

Sylvia needed to get away from him. Her mind frantically searched for a reason that didn't sound too suspicious. Unexpectedly, Solas came to her rescue.

"Inquisitor and I were about to head out to discuss some things regarding the connection between her Mark and the Fade, Commander." He replied smoothly as he stepped up behind her by Fen. Taking her arm from the ex-templar, Solas led her out to the battlements. Away from the templar.

Once they were on a part of the battlement that wasn't frequented by the guards, Sylvia let out a shaky breath and turned to Solas. He regarded her calmly. "You need not explain to me. You are a Dalish mage, and it would be strange if you did not have unpleasant encounters with templars. I assumed something had triggered your memories when you ran into the Commander."

Sylvia silently nodded. Solas looked as if he wanted to say something more regarding her panic, but seemed to decide against it. "I will leave you alone for now. Feel free to talk to me if you ever feel the need to." With that, the strange elf started to walk away. Sylvia called out. "Solas!" He turned to look at her. "Thank you." Her voice came out as a whisper. The man just nodded and walked away silently. Sylvia looked up at the sky. She was going to need to go out and hunt.

*~*

Sylvia's jaws clamped across the ram's neck, and tore it open. Her razor sharp claws dug in deep into its hide as she held the dying ram down. It thrashed in final protest as its lifeblood flowed away, soaking her paws. Sylvia howled in triumph.

She didn't know how long she have been out for. All she knew was her jaws and claws were dripping with blood from numerous prey she'd hunted so far. Her visions blurred as her memories overlapped with the preys she hunted. Sometimes her claws were tearing into the furry pelt of animals. Others were the humans with blue eyes pleading for mercy. She tore those into pieces.

Sylvia hunted and killed until her paws were so sleek with blood she slipped and fell. Lying down on the forest floor, she laughed at herself. She was so pathetic. She thought she had managed to change somewhat, at least when it came to Cullen. He was unlike any she had met before. Strong, capable, dedicated, and undeniably _good._ Unlike the ones five years ago. Unlike _her_.

She stood slowly, and sniffed the air. She could smell water not far away, and padded over carefully. She needed to wash the blood off herself. At least her impulsive hunting wouldn't be a complete waste of time. Her wolf pack had dragged away most of the game she had caught towards the keep. They kept the ones she had torn to pieces alone for the pack. After shifting and washing the blood off, Sylvia slowly walked back to the keep. The crazed blood lust she had felt was dissipated, but Sylvia didn't feel any better about herself.

*~*

Sylvia approached Cullen's office yet again. She had spent the entire day hunting, and the sun was sinking slowly behind the mountain peaks, blazing out. She knocked hesitantly, wondering if she had the willpower to go through with her plan. She heard Cullen's prompt response. "Enter." Taking a breath, she walked in.

"Inquisitor!" He flashed her a grin as he stood up. His eyes swept her up and down, and she knew he was searching for signs of worry or damage she may have gotten over the course of the day. He hadn't forgotten her little hiss in the morning. "I was hoping you would come by." Sylvia blinked, surprised, until she heard Assan's screech from the corner of his office. She turned, as the eagle launched himself from the armor stand he had been perched upon, and landed on her shoulder. She laughed, feeling her spirit rise as she saw her old friend.

"Assan returned early afternoon today. I went to find you, but Solas told me you'd gone out hunting with your wolves." How did he know? Sylvia wondered. Cullen smiled fondly at Assan. "He was magnificent. Apparently my sister's children absolutely loved him." Sylvia smiled at that. She could imagine little shemlen children seeing an eagle close up for the first time. She looked over his new desk to see the parchment, and saw 'Mia'. His sister's name, she remembered, and quickly averted her eyes, not wishing to pry into his private matters. Cullen noticed.

"It does not have anything too private in it. She was just glad to hear I was still alive." He held the letter out to her. Sylvia looked at him, stunned. He shrugged "She wrote about Assan too." Taking the parchment, she read quickly.

_'Dear Mia, I'm still alive. Your loving brother, Cullen'_

_Honestly, is it so difficult? We thought you were dead._ **Again** _. If the Inquisition was not on everyone's lips, we would never have heard that their fine Commander survived Haven._

_We've been hearing strange things about the templars lately. I am not sorry you left them. I thought your resignation was implied when you joined the Inquisition, but you meant something more, didn't you?_

_And wherever did you manage to get an eagle to carry your letter? The children love him. I'm slightly worried they overfed the bird, but it seems it can still fly, so I'll assume my letter will reach you. The children demands that the bird come back to play with them. I know eagles are not normal messenger birds, but if you can somehow spare it again, children would be ecstatic._

_It's a fool's errand asking you to stay safe, but please try._

_Your loving sister, (see how easy this is?)_

_Mia_

Sylvia looked up and smirked. "It seems that Assan must fly back to your family, lest the children come storming the keep for him."

Cullen laughed at that, and took the letter back from her. His eyes held his silent question, and Sylvia nodded. "Yes, Assan can fly your letters for your family again. In fact, you may use him as you wish as long as it is not Inquisition related. And you let me know beforehand" Cullen smiled. "Thank you, Inquisitor."

"Your family thought you were dead? Again? How many times have they thought you dead?" Sylvia wondered out loud. Instantly, Cullen's face darkened, and Sylvia backtracked. "Nevermind. It's your private matters. I overstepped." He nodded, looking thankful that she didn't pry into that piece of history. "Was there something you needed, Inquisitor?"

"Yes. I was wondering if you had time for another round of chess." Her voice didn't sound too weird, did it?

"I... yes. I believe I have some time now." He looked surprised, then looked at his roster to double check the training time. "Shall we go?" Sylvia nodded, and headed out the door. Cullen followed a moment later with the chess board held in his hand.

*~*

Sylvia was doing better this time, she thought. Or he was just letting her win a little. Probably the latter. She moved her pawn, then patted Fen. She was trying to work out few moves ahead, but it was difficult.

"Inquisitor, if I may. I had a question to ask." She looked up from the board to meet his golden eyes, and nodded. "Truthfully, I'd seen Fen before in Haven. The night you taught me how to handle a longbow." Sylvia's hand twitched. "That night, Fen was with this other wolf. A huge black wolf, with a coat that glistened with moonlight. I've been looking for that wolf since we've arrived at Skyhold, but haven't seen him yet. Is he alright?" Creators, she wasn't ready for this.

"Do you know which wolf I speak of?" Cullen asked when she took too long to answer. She nodded. "Yes, and it's a her. Not him." Cullen's knight took her pawn. "And she doesn't like showing herself to anyone not in her pack." She chose her words carefully. She didn't want to lie outright. "She stays outside of Skyhold, with her pack. She isn't comfortable with so many others around inside the keep to show herself." Her rook took his pawn.

"I thought your pack was drawn to you, and the people around you." Cullen asked, curiosity evident. Sylvia kept her eyes on the chessboard. "Yes, but she is exceptionally shy. She was attacked by some shemlen when she was but a cub, and if pressed too hard she can get violent. It is both for her sake as well as the Inquisition's that she stays away from the people here." Cullen nodded his understanding.

"Shame. She was truly an amazing sight that night. I had hoped to see her again." Sylvia felt guilty. "Perhaps one day, I can convince her to meet with you." His bishop caught her rook.

Assan fluttered his wings on her shoulder, and Fen shifted himself onto her. Sylvia let her senses relax a little, enjoying the game despite the fact that she was once again losing. The proximity to her Commander left her magic singing in her body, pulling at the lyrium in him.

"How did your discussion with Solas go?" Cullen changed the topic. Man knew how to go for the most difficult conversations, she thought. "It was fine. We just confirmed a few things we had theorized on." Her queen took his pawn. "It seems that the Mark indeed strengthens my connection to the Fade. It does not strengthen my normal magical abilities, nor does it increase my risk of possession, but it does allow me to dream with remarkable focus. It is difficult to tell my dreams from waking moments now." He moved a pawn into the path of her rook. Was it a trap? "It seems that this also makes me unable to wake up under my own power if I were to have a nightmare. It seems I am trapped until it either plays itself out to the end, or someone else wakes me." She decided to catch the pawn with her knight.

"Am I correct in assuming you were the one who put me to bed last night?" She asked, trying to change the subject. Cullen immediately flushed red, and looked away. "Yes." His answer was very short. She must have done something.

"I'm sorry, Cullen. I hope I didn't do or say anything to make you uncomfortable. And thank you for once again, taking care to see me safely to my quarters." What in the Void's name did she do last night?

His eyes whipped around to find hers. "No! You didn't... that is, I wasn't... bah!" Cullen gestured with his hands, then smiled sheepishly. "You didn't do anything untoward last night, my lady." He spoke slowly, testing the words out. "And you are welcome. And as much as I enjoy carrying you to your quarters, I would hope that you will stay away from battlements when you drink. Wind could knock you right over."

"Is that where you found me? On the battlements?" Cullen nodded, and moved his pawn to capture her knight. "I don't remember much of last night" She admitted.

"You said you would fly if you fell." He laughed. Sylvia stiffened. She had hinted to him that she could fly. Creators, she was an idiot! "You drank both Bull and Sera under the table. Impressive feat, by the way. And Dorian made sure I took you up to your bed so the stairs didn't kill you." Her queen fell to his rook.

"Anything else?" Sylvia moved her remaining bishop. Cullen shook his head as he captured her king, and smirked. The scar on his lip twisted with the movement, somehow making the man even more handsome. Sylvia wanted to smack him.

*~*

Sylvia followed Cullen back into his office, and watched as he put the chess board away. She was about the bid him good night when he replaced the candle on his desk, and grabbed for another report. "You're going to work?" She blurted out. The moon was already high above in the sky. Cullen looked at her. "There's tons of things to do." He said. Sylvia shook her head. How did he function without sleep? As she turned to leave, her magic was tugged on by his lyrium. Then it finally dawned on her.

Earlier in the morning, his lyrium had _whispered_ to her. It hadn't sang like normal templars' blood did. Last night too. She didn't notice it was a templar holding her. And during the chess game, his blood had thrummed in sync with hers, not overpowering. She whirled around, and looked over Cullen swiftly, analyzing. There was slight sheen of sweat over his eyebrows. His skin was a little flushed, and as usual his hands were holding onto his pommel.

"Commander, is there a problem with our lyrium stockpile?" She asked sharply. Something was wrong with Cullen's lyrium. She did not miss the surprise and guilt that sped past his face. "No, Inquisitor. There is no problem. Was there a cause for concern?"

He didn't want to tell her. It wasn't a matter she was willing to let go though. "What is wrong with your lyrium, Commander?" Sylvia narrowed her eyes.

"My lyrium?" He looked confused. Sylvia stepped up to him, closing the gap between them. "Yes. Your lyrium. As in the lyrium that is flowing through your blood." She put her hand on his armor, over his chest. Focusing all her senses on It, she could definitely feel the difference. "You don't feel like how a templar should. Your lyrium is responding to my magic strangely." Sylvia looked up into his eyes. "And you know why."

Cullen stared down at her for a moment before sighing. He opened a drawer from his desk and pulled a small box out. She felt the lyrium singing inside. His lyrium kit. That didn't feel different from normal templars.

"As leader of the Inquisition, you..." He took a deep breath "I should tell you." Sylvia searched his face. He looked sad. "Whatever it is, I'm willing to listen." She told him.

"Right. Thank you." He didn't smile. "Lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well." Sylvia nodded. She knew all too well. Cullen leaned down over his desk, and continued. "Those cut off suffer - some go mad, others die." Lyrium withdrawals. She didn't know the details in that front. Sylvia killed her templars quickly.

"We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the templars here." Sylvia knew that also. Josephine had negotiated with the dwarves. His next words caught her completely off guard though. "But I... no longer take it."

He what? "You stopped?!" And apparently my brain stopped too.

"When I joined the Inquisition. It's been months now." Cullen wouldn't meet her eyes. Her mind finally worked. Lyrium - highly addictive substance to those without magic. Used by templars to dispell mages' power. Chain and leash to hold the templars in place by the chantry. Symptoms of lyrium withdrawls Cullen had just pointed out: madness and death.

"Cullen, if this can kill you..." Sylvia started. "It hasn't yet." Cullen cut in. He still didn't look at her though. "After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't..." Sylvia desperately searched her mind. What had happened in Kirkwall? The first dissolvement of Circle. Explosion of chantry. Cullen had told her he had been the Knight-Captain there, before becoming the Knight-Commander. Tried to keep the city from tearing itself apart.

"I will not be bound to the Order - or that life - any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it." Cullen finally straightened and looked at her. His face was set in grim determination. Creators, he was serious.

"But I would not put the Inquisition at risk." Sylvia was confused for a moment, before she realized he was assuming she was worried about his performance as her Commander. Dread Wolf take her, she should be worried about that. But she couldn't focus.

"I have asked Cassandra to... watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty." So the Seeker already knew. Sylvia tried to prioritize. It didn't work. "Are you in pain?" It was the first thing out of her mouth. "I can endure it." The finality in his voice told her he wasn't willing to discuss that. It also told her he was in great pain. She knew she had to ask him about the effect this would have on his work as Commander. To know how extensively the condition would deteriorate. A substitute, in case the worst happened. None made past Sylvia's lips. Instead, she heard herself say "Thank you for telling me. I respect what you're doing." She was failing as the Inquisitor. Cullen looked relieved.

"Thank you, Inquisitor. The Inquisition's army must always take priority. Should anything happen... I will defer to Cassandra's judgment."

*~*

Sylvia somehow found herself out in the balcony in her quarters with Fen and Assan. She barely registered their presence as her mind went over Cullen's confession to her. He didn't take lyrium anymore. She shivered.

When they were in Haven, Sylvia had already realized Cullen was no longer a templar, true to his words. He did not judge her by her magic, and kept an open mind. He did not Smite her when she attacked him unprovoked. He was sincere, kind, and dedicated to helping others. He was the exact opposite of everything she hated about the templars. That was in Haven.

Now she found out that he no longer took lyrium. Cullen was staking his body, his sanity, his life on the line. She had never really understood when he stressed the ex part of his templar career. Now, the weight of it bore heavily in her mind. Creators, that man did not do things half-way.

Sylvia thought back to how his lyrium felt. It wasn't that the amount in his system had lessened - she would have noticed that much sooner. No, the lyrium level in his body was the same. Which meant that the lyrium in his body was changed without the constant intake of lyrium. It had been subtle until she noticed it. The song his lyrium sang to her was different from regular templars'. It was softer, kinder, and stirring. It pulsed with her magic together, in harmony. Sylvia had enjoyed the feeling, enjoyed the way it allowed her to relax. But at what cost? His sanity? Eventual death? Certainly pain and suffering for now.

That night, she prayed to her elven gods, even to the Dread Wolf until the sun rose. Under the moonlight, she knelt and prayed to her gods and plead for their protection of this one sincere ex-templar. She didn't realize that one of them did hear her plea that night.


	22. Day at Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After coming back from the Western Approach, Inquisitor takes a relaxing day at Skyhold with her friends

"I fucking hate sand!" Sylvia shouted, stomping her foot down. Fire sparks spread out in front of her, before disappearing into the air as her magic danced along her skin. Creators, a desert was a horrendous place. She heard Varric snicker and glared at him, her hate rolling off her body. Dorian coughed in a miserable attempt to hide his laughter. Cullen's men had finally secured a post for her in the Western Approach, and Sylvia had promptly left Skyhold to meet with Warden Stroud and the Champion. Sylvia was only just beginning to find out what a miserable place the desert was.

"Why couldn't the sodding Wardens get tricked by Venatori some place nicer?" She growled as she felt sand rubbing her raw. Her boots were also full of it. "Somewhere with a nice forest. Lovely weather. Lots of animals. Nice little stream to take a swim in." Sylvia took her boot off, pouring the sand out. Blackwall's lips twitched with amusement he tried to suppress. He wasn't successful.

"Come on, Wolfie. It's not that bad. Look, we can see the tower over there. We're practically there!" Varric patted her shoulder as she put her boot back on. "It is that bad, dwarf." She grumbled, but started walking again. "I wish the Dread Wolf would freeze this entire hell hole over." Solas laughed at that, chuckling low. Sylvia stared at him, surprised at the calm elf's sudden amusement. He only laughed harder. "Uh, Chuckles, you may not want to annoy Wolf too much. She has really sharp fangs." Varric nudged the elf. Sylvia decided to just stomp away as Solas shook with uncontrolled mirth. Fucking desert was driving them all mad.

*~*

Joining up with Stroud and Hawke, Sylvia strode in to greet the Grey Wardens. They were in middle of blood magic ritual. Sylvia watched in horror as a mage killed their fellow Warden, and summoned forth a rage demon. This was madness. As she confronted the Tevinter mage - Livius Erimond of Vyrantium - Sylvia realized that the mage Wardens no longer had a mind of their own. A demon army for Corypheus, so that he could conquer Orlais. Bound through the Grey Warden mages. As Sylvia attacked the Tevinter, the Wardens and demons swarmed to kill her little party. She cast her magic, and watched with sickness as the last of the Warden mages died. She looked over to Blackwall and Stroud. Both men looked crestfallen. Sylvia touched Blackwall gently, but couldn't dwell on their feelings. She needed to get back to Skyhold. The Grey Warden mages were becoming enslaved to Corypheus, and Warden warriors were used as a blood sack. She had to stop it.

Sylvia managed to stop Hawke from getting too angry - suggested that it'd be better if she focused her energy on preventing further blood magic rituals. Thankfully, Stroud offered them a possible location for the Wardens. The Adamant fortress. She could work with that. Agreeing that Hawke and Stroud would scout out the fortress and meet up with them at Skyhold, Sylvia departed. They needed a stronger presence in the Western Approach, she decided. There was too much Venatori activity in this desert.

Leading her companions, Sylvia assaulted the Griffon Wing Keep the very next day. It was crawling with Venatori agents, but between her and her companions, it was simple matter to clear them out. Leaving the Keep in Rylen's capable hands, Sylvia rode hard back to Skyhold.

*~*

Sylvia arrived at Skyhold at dawn. Dismounting, she had promptly called for a war meeting regarding the bad news she brought. By the time they departed, it was well into midmorning, the sun shining brightly in the sky.

After the depressing war meeting with her advisers, Sylvia needed something to lift her spirits up. If she sat about waiting for siege equipment and soldiers until the assault for Adamant was ready, she would go mad. She needed something fun with her friends. Something to keep her mind off the recent developments. She smiled and sped toward the tavern.

"Come on, Bull. That best you got? You should be ashamed of your size!" Sylvia taunted as she spun out of Bull's swing, and laughed. "Oh Boss, I catch you once, and you'll be eating dirt." Bull promised her. She just wiggled her hand at him. Yes, a sparring match was exactly what she needed. It got her blood flowing.

Darting in quick, too close for Bull's double handed axe, Sylvia rapped Bull's shoulders twice with her staff, then danced out of his backswing. Bull cursed at another miss. "Varric! What are the odds?" She called out. Dwarf waved "Four to Six, Wolfie. Still against you!"

Sylvia looked out at the small group of audience that had gathered, and grabbed at her chest. "Oh, you unfaithful lot. Your distrust wounds me." She mockingly cried out, and audience roared with laughter. Timing her theatrics with Bull's huge swing with his axe, Sylvia dropped to the ground still clutching at her chest, pretending to be wounded. She was rewarded with a loud applause from her soldiers. Quickly rolling, she slipped behind Bull and struck out at his hamstrings. Bull dropped heavily to the floor, but swung backhanded towards her as he went down. She barely avoided that one twisting her body almost painfully away. She cartwheeled backwards with one hand, other still gripping her staff. People cheered. She put extra swagger in her step.

"You're a mage! It's unnatural for you lot to go jumping about like that." Bull shook his horned head as he climbed back to his feet. Sylvia resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him like a child. "Fantastic is what I am! And I excel at tossing your ass into the ground! Because I'm amazing" She smirked before twirling out of yet another heavy blow Bull delivered. Deciding that she was satisfied with the match, Sylvia moved to end it. As Bull rushed her, Sylvia stabbed her blade into the ground and jumped. Her hands still holding onto her staff, she lifted her body to be parallel to the ground for a moment as Bull charged into her. Using his momentum, she swung about her staff, as Bull crashed down, his balance upset due to her sudden disappearance. The force from her spin made her land hard into the qunari's back, knocking his wind out, and she held her staff across the back of his neck. "I yield!" Bull wheezed out.

Pounding the air with her fist, Sylvia hooted. She laughed as she saw the money changing hands rapidly around the sparring ring. Extending her hand to help Bull stand up, Sylvia called out to Varric, reminding him that she was owed a share of the winnings. Pleased with the way her afternoon turned out, Sylvia strode off to Cassandra. Perhaps she would be interested in sparring as well.

*~*

To her surprise, Cassandra wasn't smashing training dummies to dust as usual. In fact, Cassandra was so engrossed in her book that she didn't notice Sylvia until she stood directly over the warrior. "Good book?" Sylvia asked. The Seeker quickly stood up, hiding the book. "I don't know what you're talking about." She narrowed her eyes. Was Cassandra _blushing_?! She _had_ to know what that book was now. After teasing and begging for near five minutes, Cassandra finally relented.

"It's one of Varric's tales. Swords & Shields. The latest chapter." She fumbled with the book.

"Wait. Varric's? You read Varric's books?!" And I thought nothing could surprise me after Corypheus. She shook her head in wonder. "Wait. Swords & Shields? Isn't that his romance series?" And somehow Dorian was there. That man knew exactly when to be around when something fun was happening. "That one's her favorite you know." He purred. Cassandra glared daggers at him. "I couldn't finish the last one she lent me. I actually feel dumber for having tried." Dorian winked at her, and Sylvia laughed. Could this day get any more ridiculous?

"It's literature! Smutty... literature." Cassandra finally confessed. Apparently yes! Sylvia wanted to howl with laughter. She settled instead for falling down and wheezing as her body shook uncontrollably. Whimpers of laughter escaped when she could get enough air into her lungs.

Cassandra glared down at her. It only made her laugh harder. "Fine, laugh if you must. But whatever you do, don't tell Varric!" Sylvia gasped. "Me? NO~~~ I would never!" She tried to look at Cassandra innocently. Cassandra sighed and helped her get up.

"They're terrible. And _magnificent._ " Cassandra confessed. Sylvia's ears twitched in disbelief. "And _this_ one ends in a cliffhanger. I know Varric is working on the next, he must be!" Oh, the woman sounded desperate. Sylvia's mouth twitched as she tried to hold back another wave of giggles threatening to burst out of her lips.

"You! You could ask him to finish it. _Command_ him to..." Cassandra finally caught herself. Glaring, Seeker warned her. "Pretend you don't know this about me." Smiling, Sylvia nodded and left the woman alone. Oh, this had so much potential.

*~*

"Varric! Varric!" Sylvia ran in to the hall, ignoring the startled nobles. "Whoa, hey there Wolf! What's got you all wound up like this?"

Sylvia panted, each breath pushing a word out of her mouth. "Cassandra... waiting. Next issue. Swords & Shields." Varric looked at her blankly. "I must have heard that wrong. It sounded like you just said that Cassandra read my books."

Sylvia burst out laughing again, unable to stop herself. She nodded at Varric - he was waiting for an answer - but with the panting and laughing, Sylvia felt like she was going to die due to lack of oxygen. "HUGE fan." Sylvia gasped. From the looks of it, Varric still didn't believe her.

"Are we talking about the same Cassandra? Tall, grumpy Seeker? Likes stabbing things?" Sylvia nodded again. Creators, she needed to take a breath now, or she was going to pass out.

"Wait, did you say the romance serial? She'll be waiting for a while, then. I haven't finished it and wasn't planning to. That book is easily the worst I've ever written. The last issue barely sold enough to pay for the ink." Sylvia grinned. "Cassandra is totally hooked on it. I need to give it to her as a gift."

"And I honestly thought a hole in the sky was the weirdest thing that could happen." That set Sylvia off again. She laughed until she felt tears pooling in her eyes.

"So, you want me to finish writing the latest issue of my worst serial. For Cassandra." Sylvia nodded, wiping at her eyes. Varric chuckled heartily. "Oh, that's such a terrible idea, I have to do it. On one condition: I get to be there when you give her the book." Sylvia smirked "I wouldn't have it any other way"

"I'll get to work, then. You know, the fact that the book is terrible just makes it more worthwhile, somehow." The dwarf grinned. "I'll let you know as soon as I'm done with it."

*~*

After leaving Varric to work on his smutty book - smutty! Sylvia giggled again - she jogged around Skyhold. As the Inquisitor, she still had work to do no matter how badly she wished to avoid them. Thankfully, Josie didn't have anything for her today. She then climbed the steps up to Leliana to check in.

Nightingale was talking with one of her spies. Sylvia's sharp ears caught their conversation. "Healers say that Sam will make full recovery with time." Leliana looked relieved.

"One of our men was injured?" Sylvia asked. The spy turned around, and saluted smartly. "Inquisitor! Yes ser. A group of scouts was mauled by a particularly vicious bear nearby. Nobody died, but some were injured severely."

"How close by was this?"

Leliana answered. "It's about few hours walk from the Skyhold gate. This could pose a threat to merchants, faithfuls, recruits, and nobles coming here. I will get Commander to send soldiers to hunt the bear down." Sylvia shook her head.

"Don't bother, Leliana. Commander's men have better things to do then scourging forests for a wild bear. I'll send my wolves. Can you tell me which direction I need to go?" The scout filled her in with details, and Sylvia climbed down to Solas' rotunda to get to Cullen's office. Waving at Solas as he painted, Sylvia soon walked into Cullen's office.

He was buried under work as usual. Soldiers were milling around his desk. His office was even more of a mess than last time she had been here weeks ago. Rubble was moved to the corner of the office, but still there. Books were strewn all over the floor, as a huge map took over the space on his desk. His chair also held a pile of books and reports. More requisition forms were scattered over the floor. How did he get any work done? Once the parade of messengers finally disappeared, Sylvia walked up to him.

"Is there anything I should know?" Sylvia asked as her eyes swept over Cullen. He was in full armor as usual - and he didn't look any different than usual. Except he was gripping his pommel rather tightly.

"Sera brought me a piece of cake. She thought I looked hungry." Her eyes met his golden ones. "Why are you telling me this?" Cullen shrugged. "Because it was either an act of kindness or a trap. I was hoping you knew which." Sylvia smiled, amused. "Sorry, I have no idea." His lyrium was singing softly to her. It didn't feel any different from how it felt during their last chess game.

"There's a bear northeast from here that's been acting viciously. I'm heading out with my wolves to go hunt it. If you have any training exercise scheduled in that area for next couple hours, could you either move it or reschedule it?" Cullen searched for his schedule hidden beneath the map, and checked. "There doesn't seem to be any that would conflict with your hunt. Are you sure you are going to go? I could just send my men out."

Sylvia waved her hand vaguely. "No, I want to go. It's been forever since I went hunting with my pack. It'll be fun. Then afterwards, I can finally go wash all this sand off." Sylvia was in dire need of a bath. Cullen smiled at her, softening his features. "I'm certain you're dying to wash off after coming back from Western Approach. I've read your reports, you know. You certainly employed... colorful terms regarding the conditions there." Sylvia sniffed. "I can afford to complain about weather. I don't complain about demons instead." Cullen laughed at that. "Certainly true. Well, I won't keep you here any longer." Nodding, Sylvia left to find Fen and Assan for her hunt.

*~*

With five wolves, Fen, and Assan in tow, Sylvia was about to leave the Skyhold when Cullen rushed towards her. Immediately, she was worried. "What's wrong? Did something happen, Commander?" He looked startled. "What? No. I was just trying to catch you before you left. I, uh, I was wondering if you would mind if I joined you." Well that wasn't something she was expecting.

"I've had enough of reports for today, and the idea of bear hunting certainly has its appeals." Cullen smirked. Sylvia felt herself nodding in response to his smirk. That man's smirk was just _unfair_. Turning, she walked out of Skyhold, motioning for Cullen to follow. "I don't want to take mounts in case the horses get spooked by my wolves. We'll have to walk there. Don't worry, it isn't far." She added when Cullen looked startled. He fell into step besides her.

"Do you go hunting often?" Sylvia asked after they were in the forest. Forests made her feel more comfortable.

"Not really. As a templar, you don't really have the luxury of hunting for sport. And hunting is usually done with bows - and I'm sure you remember how disastrous mixing me and a bow was." Sylvia out a short laugh. Yes, watching him struggle with a longbow had definitely been amusing.

"But hunting bears, well, I can stick my sword in them fine. So I've hunted bears before." He finished.

"Is that where you got your pauldron and your cloak? Bear fur from your hunts?"

"Yes. You could tell it was bear fur? Not many does you know. It was a great bear I hunted while I was in Kirkwall. It was huge - and Hawke told me she knew someone that could turn it into something wearable." Cullen grimaced. "Furred cloak was within reason. Furred pauldron, on the other hand, was completely unexpected. Never had a reason to wear it in Kirkwall. But with the cold up here in the mountains, I must confess I enjoy the warmth they provide."

Cullen looked over her "Aren't you freezing? You're not even wearing a cloak. Why aren't you dressed more warmly?"

Sylvia _was_ freezing - she had planned to hunt in her wolf's form, and hadn't dressed properly. She was already shivering. And she couldn't think of a proper excuse. "I, uh... didn't think it'd be cold." That was lame. Sylvia kicked herself mentally.

Cullen of course didn't look convinced. Sylvia sighed, and looked at Fen. The wolf quietly flicked his tail, watching her. Fen didn't approve of her lying. Perhaps Fen was right. Cullen shared his secret of lyrium with her. Maybe it was time to share hers. Waving her hand, she sent the wolves out in a wide circle to scout the area out around her. If she had to shift, she didn't want to do so in front of anybody but Cullen. If Leliana's spies were out here, the wolves would let her know.

"Inquisitor?" Cullen sounded confused. "Don't worry about them. They'll come back soon enough." Sylvia said, as she pulled Cullen to a stop beside her. "I have something to tell you." His curious eyes waited. Creators, how was she going to do this?

"The truth is... I am cold." Dread Wolf help her.

Cullen immediately began to work his cloak off himself. "Wait, no! That's not what I'm trying to say." Sylvia stopped him with a touch. Her fingers pressed down firmly on his arm. "I didn't dress warmer because... if you hadn't joined me, I would have had no need of warmer clothing. I would have had a wolf's pelt."

Cullen's eyes widened in surprise as he started to understand her words. Biting her lips, she muttered her last words. "The black wolf you saw, with Fen? That was me." She dreaded to hear his next words. Would he be angry? Disgusted? Terrified? Her clan mates certainly would be.

"Is it Dalish magic? I think I have heard somewhere that the famous Witch Morrigan was a shapeshifter. I had assumed it was just rumor, but if you can shift into a wolf..." Cullen trailed off, looking thoughtful.

Sylvia blinked. Did he ever do something she expected? Evidently not. "Are you okay with it? It's not chantry approved magic. It's not even Dalish, not really. It just... happened after I spent so much time with the wolves." Cullen chuckled. "As long as it isn't blood magic, I am alright. It seems that a hole in the sky shifts one's perspective quite a bit." A breath Sylvia didn't realize she'd been holding escaped as relief flushed through her. A warm smile played across her face.

"I, ah, apologize for ruining your hunt, Inquisitor." Sylvia released his arm, and shook her head. "No, it's alright. I wanted to spend more time with you, remember? I'm glad you joined me for this little fun. But since I am freezing, I am going to use my magic to warm myself up." With that, she wrapped her magic around herself, instantly feeling better. She enjoyed how his blood thrummed in response, so in tune with her. He smiled at her knowingly. Perhaps he could feel it too.

With that, the two of them continued on to search for the pesky bear.


	23. Bear Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where they finally kiss!

_Curly_

_Why did I agree to come here again? Forbidden Oasis is beautiful, only right by the water. Everywhere else is dreadful. Chuckles killed a giant. So many spiders. Found the shrine. It has lots of moving corpses. Need more of those creepy skull shards. Will be back soon._

_Wolf._

*~*

_Curly, Knight-Captain R._

_Killed the varghests. Water shouldn't taste funny anymore._

_Wolf_

*~*

_Knight-Captain, Curly_

_I will never forgive you for guilt tripping me into coming here again, R. Pesky fortress squatters cleared out._

_Wolf_

*~*

_Curly, Knight-Captain_

_Found the source for the darkspawn. Followed them into Coracavus. Sealed the Deep Roads entrance, shouldn't have trouble anymore._

_Also found Venatori mages and giants. Lots of giants. Need more soldiers to take Venatori mage back._

_If I see another desert ever again, it will be too soon._

_Wolf_

*~*

Sylvia sunk into her bath gratefully. It had been so long since her body was free of sand! Keeping the water warm with her heat spells, Sylvia soaked herself. Josie can deal with the blighted nobles, she thought. Sylvia was going nowhere.

While she waited for the Inquisition forces to be ready to assault Adamant fortress, Sylvia kept herself busy by increasing their presence in the Western Approach. As much as she hated deserts, she knew she would probably go back to kill the high dragon that was threatening her people there after the mess with the Grey Wardens was sorted out.

Sylvia rubbed the soap into her hair, noticing it had grown slightly longer. She would need to cut it soon. After an hour of bathing, Sylvia finally dressed and left her quarters. After checking in with Leliana - and avoiding Josie - Sylvia padded over to Cullen's office. She wasn't in Skyhold often, but when she was home, Sylvia enjoyed her chess and hunting sessions with Cullen. She knew she was improving at chess rapidly. Knocking, Sylvia entered Cullen's office. 

* * *

Cullen looked up to see Sylvia walking into his office. It had been a while since he'd seen her last, and his eyes drank her in greedily. She was flushed, probably from her bath, and her dark wet hair was tumbling down over her shoulders. He didn't see her hair down often - she kept it coiled tightly in case of battle, and enjoyed his chance to see her gentle curls. Fen was padding along behind her as usual, and Assan was perched on her slender shoulder. He swallowed, before stomping down on his thoughts forcefully. "Inquisitor. Anything I can help you with?" Cullen could not stop himself from smiling though.

"Yes, Commander. Promise me you will never send me to another desert. It was miserable!" He smirked. "That I cannot do. Anything else, Inquisitor?" Sylvia sighed theatrically. "Well, then. Perhaps you can get away for some time? I find myself needing to hunt."

Cullen looked at the roster, and sighed. "I'm sorry, Inquisitor. I won't be able to hunt until late evening." Sylvia shrugged. "I can wait. I'll come meet you here after dinner." Cullen nodded. "I should be able to get away then. Oh, and Inquisitor, I was hoping to send Assan off with a letter for my family." Sylvia smiled and pointed toward him, and the eagle fluttered over. He held his own arm out, allowing the eagle to sit on his metal bracers as he attached the letter to his leg. Cullen was finally getting used to Assan. They watched as the eagle flew out his door. "Thank you again, Inquisitor." He smiled as she waved her goodbye. He would see her again later.

*~*

"Cullen, are you ready?" He looked up from the training schedule, and blinked in confusion. "Inquisitor? Maker's breath, is it already time?" Sylvia looked at him "Shall I come back later?" Cullen straightened, his limbs stiff. "No, it's alright. Just give me a moment to get out of my armor." He didn't want to go running through the forest in his full armor. Considering how she was dressed, Sylvia wanted to hunt in her wolf's form. Which meant he would have to run fast.

Moving to his armor stand, Cullen started to pull his armor off piece by piece. His practiced fingers made short work of it - he had been in his armor for most of the last decade after all. Pulling his thick cloak over his shoulders and fastening it across his neck, Cullen turned to Sylvia watching him closely.

"Inquisitor? Is something wrong?" He hoped he didn't look too sick. His lyrium withdrawal had hit him hard last week. "No, it's just... you look different without your armor on." He smiled and led her out of his office. "So I've been told."

*~*

The bear was huge. As he delivered the finishing blow with his sword, he saw a small movement with the corner of his eyes. It was another bear. A white bear was approaching Sylvia unseen. From downwind. Crying out in alarm, Cullen launched himself towards Sylvia. Throwing his shield over the black wolf, Cullen took the blow badly. The angle he had held the shield had been awkward, and his shield arm paid the price. Cullen knew it was broken badly. Snarling, Sylvia shot out from under him, attacking the bear. She and her wolves finished the second great bear off quickly as he tried to work his broken arm free of his shield.

He gasped in pain as his arm fell limply into the snow. Sylvia was there in an instant. "Cullen! I'm so sorry!" She wasn't a wolf anymore. Her long fingers were on his arm, checking for breaks. He winced, and fought back the darkness creeping into his vision. Sylvia was saying something to the wolves, though Cullen couldn't hear over the rush of his blood in his ears. Then she was talking to him. "Cullen, I can't mend your arm like this. Your arm shattered, and it's damaging your flesh from the inside. I have to press the bones back into place and mend it. If I don't, your bones could cut your blood vessels." He gritted his teeth and nodded. Sylvia held her hands over his. "If you feel like passing out, don't fight it. It'll make it easier." Then as she grabbed his arm tightly, Cullen fell into darkness.

* * *

The break had been a bad one. Sylvia's mana was nearly depleted from healing him. But she was confident Cullen's arm was as good as new now, and she was satisfied. Then she shook him gently, trying to wake him. The man didn't budge. She realized how cold both of them were. During the time she had been healing, it had started to snow. And now, it was snowing so hard that Cullen was half covered. This was bad. She hadn't noticed the snow during the healing. Using the last bit of her mana, she warmed both of them up, and woke him. Cullen sat up slowly, blinking confusedly.

First things first. "How's your arm, Cullen?" He stared for a moment, before flexing his left arm. He smiled, satisfied. Good. "That's good. Now, if we don't get back to Skyhold soon we're going to freeze to death." He finally seemed to notice the snow. It was starting to turn into snowstorm. He stood quickly, and pulled her up. His eyes were calculating. "No, we won't make it back to Skyhold before it turns into a full blown snowstorm. If we are caught in the middle of it, we may not survive. We need to find shelter now." He looked over to her "Can you shift into wolf? You'll freeze faster than me in that clothing." Sylvia shook her head. "I used up the last of my magic warming us up. I can't shift for a while." Cullen bit back a curse.

"I remember this area in the report. There was a small cave somewhere nearby." Cullen mumbled, his mind whirring. Sylvia felt more hopeful. "That's right! There is a cave. I passed it once while hunting." Sylvia looked up at the sky. Thankfully, the cloud didn't cover the sky all the way. She could still make out the stars. "This way. Follow me." Taking his hand not to lose him, Sylvia began to jog toward the cave.

"Inquisitor. You'll freeze to death before we make it to the cave." Cullen tried to unclasp his cloak. Sylvia stopped him. "No, my magic will keep me warm until then. And you keep your cloak. If you pass out from the cold, there's no way I can move you. If I do, you can at least carry me." He started to protest, but Sylvia just dragged him on. "If we don't hurry, my last spell will fail before we reach the cave."

They ran for about ten minutes before they found the cave. Her spell was beginning to fade by then, and they rushed into the small cave. It was more of a hole in the mountainside, but they needed to get out of the wind.

Once inside, they patted off the snow that had caked into their clothes. Her spell finally died as she settled on the cold stone floor. Cullen sat next to her, and unfastened his cloak and pulled it over the both of them like a blanket. She huddled closer.

"I'm sorry Cullen." She couldn't look him in the eye. "I got your arm broken, and now we're stuck in a snowstorm with no fire." He gently nudged her until she met his eyes. His golden eyes were soft, and held no blame. "Inquisitor, it is fine. I should be thanking you for fixing my arm, not forgiving you. And do not worry, we will survive this. We've dealt with worse before" He smirked and gave her a wink.

Then Sylvia realized just how close they were sitting together. She tried to shift away as her heat crept up her cheeks. Cullen stopped her by pulling his arm around her. "Don't move away. This cloak is nowhere close to being big enough. I realize you must be uncomfortable, but please bear with it for the moment." Oh, she was perfectly comfortable. That was the problem.

“Where did the wolves go?” Creators, I can feel his chest rumbling when he talks. “I sent them ahead to Skyhold. They dragged the bears with them. I didn’t think the healing would take so long, or that the snowstorm would catch us.” Regret colored her voice. With her wolves, they would be so much warmer.

Cullen nodded and looked out into the storm. The visibility was down to mere few inches. “It seems we will be stuck here for a while, Inquisitor. A shame I didn’t think to bring a chess set along.” He’s trying to cheer me up, she realized.

“We’ll just have to pass time with something else then.” Sylvia smiled up at him “Care to tell me where you got that scar?” Cullen looked confused. “My scar? Which one?”

Sylvia huffed. “The one I can see, obviously. _The_ scar. On your lips.” The one that makes your smirk so devilishly handsome and dangerous. I need to stop thinking about that now.

“Oh, that one. Sadly, I didn’t get that scar from some heroic battle as people seem to think.” His lips twitched into a half–smile. “In fact, I got it from Hawke.”

“The Champion of Kirkwall gave you that scar?!”

“Well, you realize I was the Knight-Captain of Kirkwall. Hawke had openly declared herself an apostate after her fight with the arishok. For the first few months afterwards, there was tension between her and the templars. It grew until couple of my men decided to attempt arresting her and putting her into the Circle. Obviously that didn’t go well. They came back alive, which was surprising, but I was furious. They were so thoroughly beaten. So I went to find her. To do… something, I wasn’t sure what exactly.” His hand rubbed his neck, as he recounted the events. He was smiling for once, as he was talking about his past.

“I found her and her friends at The Hanged Men. Miserable place. Most disreputable tavern in the area. I’ve known her from before when she took on a couple jobs for me. I marched right up to her and shouted at her. Somehow though, she turned it into a drinking match. Said if I could outdrink her, she’d let me yell at her as much as I wanted. If not, that she’d freeze me into a block.” He chuckled, and Sylvia felt his body shake gently with the movement. “Mad as I was, Hawke has a way of goading anybody. I drank five of that foul thing before I knew it. Didn’t make me any happier though. But I was as drunk as she was, and it turned into a bar fight, instead of a mage – templar battle. Maker knows she throws hard punches. I didn’t move out of the way fast enough for one of her blows – split my mouth right open.” He grinned. “I did get her pinned to the ground though. Eventually. Then her friends cut in before we could start with the fireballs and Purges. After that incident though, I got along with her much better. Even met up for drinks now and then.”

Sylvia laughed hard. “I can’t believe it. Everyone wonders about the scar on the face of the Commander of the Inquisition. And you got it in a brawl with the Champion in drunken haze.” Cullen shrugged. “I made Varric swear not to tell the story to the others. Didn’t think I could actually get the dwarf to stop talking, but for some reason he agreed.” Sylvia smirked “Oh, I couldn’t possibly keep this secret. Dorian has been dying to know, and I don’t have it in me to disappoint him.”

Cullen grimaced. “Ah, Dorian. Yes, well I can’t really stop you. Seems I’ll have to deal with snickering men for a while then.” Sylvia heard the undertone there. “You don’t like him?”

He rubbed his neck again. “He is fine. I know he means well, and I know you are very close to him. It’s just…” he trailed off, looking guilty. Sylvia grew even more curious. “What? What’s he done to you?”

“Nothing! I’m just, ah, not used to Tevinter mages.” Sylvia narrowed her eyes. That was a pathetic excuse. Why would he lie to her? “Has Dorian been making you uncomfortable? I told him not to make a pass at you. When I get my hands on him…”

Cullen sputtered when he realized what she was saying. “What? Me? How… I thought you two… Me?!” How dense was this man? “You didn’t know? Cullen, Dorian was lusting after you since the moment he laid his eyes on you.” Cullen impossibly turned redder. Sylvia laughed “Oh the look on your face! He hasn’t exactly been subtle! How could you possibly not have known? He is always boasting what a fine taste he has in both men and wine.” And Dorian really did have a fine taste. For both men and wine.

“But he’s flirting with you every chance he gets!” Cullen blurted out, and Sylvia couldn’t breathe anymore. “Yes, of course he is! Have you met the man? Dorian flirts with anything that is humanoid in shape. He flirts harder with his friends and handsome men. But he has no interest in my… assets.” She gasped out. Creators help her, she was going to pass out if she didn’t stop laughing soon. Her sides hurt.

"Maker’s breath. Can we speak of something else?” Her hands clutched his shirt, shaking hard with the effort she was making to stop laughing. After minutes of trying, Sylvia finally quieted down. Cullen was glaring at her, and she couldn’t help the little giggle that made past her lips. Disgruntled, Cullen moved clear of that subject.

“Tell me of yourself, Inquisitor.” Sylvia instinctively brought her guard up. “Why?” Cullen just shrugged. “I’ve never had dealings with your people before. I’d like to understand you better.” She searched his eyes, and only found sincere curiosity there. Sighing, she nodded.

“I am sorry. I know I can be harsh when it comes to my past. As you know, I was the First to the clan Lavellan. I manifested a talent for magic when I was a young child. Keeper Deshanna taught me how to control my magic, and how to protect myself from the demons wanting to possess me. She was like a mother to me.” How long has it been since I’ve talked about my clan?

“My clan was everything to me. I lost my parents to shems when I was young, and was raised by the clan elders. But some members of the clan feared me.” She couldn’t stop the words tumbling out of her mouth. Why am I telling him all this? “Our gods were betrayed by Fen’Harel and were sealed away in their respective realms. Fen’Harel is known to my people under many names such as He Who Hunts Alone and the Lord of Tricksters. But most prominently, we know him as The Great Wolf, or the Dread Wolf. After my affinity with the wolves was discovered, many thought me to be marked by the Dread Wolf, and shunned me.” Her fingers tightened into fists.

“I did everything I could to reassure them. I hunted for my clan, and protected them from any threats I could. I killed more shemlens than anybody else. There were winters when we would have starved to death if it wasn’t for me and my pack. It wasn’t enough.” She stared out of the cave, her eyes seeing the forest five years ago.

“My lethallins betrayed me. They contacted the templars without the Keeper’s permission. Five templars ambushed me in a forest one night. I would not have survived if my pack didn’t come rescue me.” Sylvia could still feel their hands on her, pinning her down all too clearly. “After my encounter with them, I trained as hunters did, despite being a mage. I trained relentlessly, until I was the best. Zevran was a good, even if brief, teacher. I kept some distance between myself and lethallins after that. After spending too much time with my wolves, my Keeper thought it would be good for me to do more for the clan. So she sent me to the Conclave to spy on the meeting. You know how things went from there.”

Cullen was quiet for a long time, his arm still wrapped around her shoulder. When he did speak again, it was barely a whisper. “Thank you for telling me” He murmured softly, his breath tickling her sensitive ears.

Sylvia turned her face to look at him. He was so close. His heat enveloped her in a protective warmth, swaddling her. She couldn’t think straight. His lips were right there; His golden eyes as sweet as honey. Leaning in, Sylvia touched her lips upon his scar. Jagged and rough, it was a stark contrast to his lips which it cut through. Cullen’s hand tightened on her shoulder, wrenching her back into reality.

 _Creators, what have I done?!_ She jerked her face away, but his grip kept her locked in place. Facing her fully, Cullen laid his heavy gaze on her. His eyes were molten gold, and she was melting into them. _What was wrong with her?_

Slowly and deliberately, Cullen leaned into her. They felt the warmth of each other’s breaths as they got closer and closer. Her mind raced to catch up to the moment. He was giving her enough time to turn away, to stop this – whatever _this_ was – from happening. They’re at war for Creators’ sake! But Sylvia couldn’t resist. She _needed_ him. Their lips touched and a small sigh escaped from the folds of her mouth. It was gentle and comforting, Cullen never asking for more than what she was willing to give. In this moment though, Sylvia was willing to give him everything. Unbidden, her fingers twisted into his curly hair. Gripping him tightly, Sylvia pulled herself into his embrace. Opening her mouth, her tongue traced his lips, then his scar. His other arm snaked along up to her hair as well, supporting her as he pressed her tightly into his body. Sylvia lightly bit his lower lip, drawing out a deep groan from him. It was but a moment before his lips were crushing down onto hers. She couldn’t help the whimpers she let out as his tongue expertly worked her over, devouring her.

All too soon, they broke apart to gasp for breath. They were both panting, their heated breath visible in the cold air, skins flushed red from the kiss. “I think” Sylvia panted out “I’m very satisfied with the survival tactic you have chosen, Commander. Very agreeable.” Cullen laughed, his face alight with happiness. He drew her back for another kiss, even more passionate than the last. Throughout the storm, he kissed her completely senseless, his hands never straying anywhere inappropriate. When the snow finally stopped blowing, Fen and her wolves bounded into their cave. With the pack making a protective circle around the two of them, Sylvia and Cullen made their way back to Skyhold, both unable to keep silly grins off their faces.


	24. Here Lies the Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siege of Adamant!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So sorry for the sudden delay. I had some private school stuff that needed sorting, and was stuck on writing this chapter FOREVER.  
> It turned out fairly well considering how hard it was to write
> 
> But thank you all for waiting patiently.
> 
> I now have an editor, my thanks to Gabtinha!
> 
> And please, I would love to hear your thoughts. Please comment!

The blast of trebuchet sent sharp shards of stone flying in all directions, and Sylvia had to duck low to avoid the pieces of walls flying over her head. The screams of dying soldiers and demons entwined with the clashing steel and roaring of fire in a grotesque melody.

_So this is what a siege is like._

There was so much blood and death, so many good women and men lying dead. And it was all because of one fucking Livius Erimond of Vyrantium.

 _I am going to tear him from limb to limb._ Sylvia seethed as she watched yet another one of her soldiers got crushed underneath a rock. Her men were dying to get her to the Warden Commander Clarel. _Then I will feed his remains to varghests._

* * *

 Cullen’s sword struck home as he stabbed a shade trying to break through the ranks of the Inquisition soldiers. His men were handling themselves very well in the battle - the countless hours of training and drilling Cullen have forced them through was finally paying off.

Inquisition soldiers were taking the battlements easily after Sylvia cleared off the pride demons, and with Hawke protecting the men, their losses weren’t as heavy as Cullen had feared. Perhaps for once things would go according to the plan.

 _Of course_ the archdemon would appear as soon as that thought crossed his mind, wouldn’t it? His eyes were wrenched from the battlefield for a moment when he heard the grinding screech it let out, before resolutely turning back to the battle. With this additional threat, he would have to change the strategy. Cullen surveyed the battle raging on carefully, and moved his forces deeper into the Keep than originally planned. With the archdemon present, there was a possibility that the Wardens have allied themselves willingly with Corypheus. If so, the small party the Inquisitor led to meet with Warden Commander Clarel was in grave danger.

As his soldiers moved further into Adamant, Cullen savagely crushed his desire to go marching in himself. As a Commander he needed to lead his men, not charge blindly into battle.

From his elevated position, it wasn’t long before he could see the Inquisitor and her party falling from the broken bridge as the archdemon flew away. Cullen held his breath, the realization washing over him slowly. Sylvia fell from the bridge – the chance of her survival was next to nothing. He ignored the pain that threatened to crush his heart, and brutally shoved aside the grief that tried to overwhelm him. He was in middle of the battle.

“Inquisition! Work with the Wardens to kill the demons! Contain them to the courtyard, do not let them escape!” He watched as his orders were carried out, waves of soldiers surrounding the rift in an endless battle against the demons continuously spilling out of the rift.

* * *

Sylvia was falling _up_. Thank the Creators she slowed down as the ground grew closer to her, but once she stood and took in the scenery around her, Sylvia couldn’t help but groan. Her magic pulsed with power. They had to be in the fade. However, she couldn’t dwell on that fact for much longer as Cole’s panicked voice rose to hysteria. Sylvia tried to comfort the spirit-boy, reassuring that they would get out of the Fade as soon as possible. Only Solas didn’t seem to mind their peculiar situation too much.

Holding on tightly to Cole, Sylvia led her small ragtag group through the distorted Fade towards the rift they could see in the distance. Despite the significance of being physically in the Fade, their little group didn’t have too much trouble. Until she noticed a human figure. Climbing the hill, Sylvia came up to an elderly woman in chantry clothing. A spirit, she decided. No human could survive in the Fade.

“Divine Justinia? Most Holy?” Cassandra choked out behind her. Divine Justinia? No, it couldn’t possibly be real. And yet the woman’s face softened into a warm smile as it greeted Cassandra. Wondering out loud, Sylvia confirmed with her companions that it indeed was likely a spirit or a demon rather than true living Divine Justinia. She… it… whatever it was didn’t seem too offended by the distrust. But Sylvia felt no harmful intent from the creature, and Cole didn’t seem too worried. Deciding to trust her instincts and Cole, Sylvia followed the Divine’s instructions in killing the wisps and gathering her missing memories from the Nightmare.

Of course the spirit failed to mention just how painful recollecting herself could be. Sylvia gasped as visions washed over her. Her memories from Haven returned to her as it played out in the Fade. She watched again as Corypheus attempted to sacrifice the Divine, who she finally recognized. Then she touched the orb, and bright light exploded.

“I never thought Andraste did this. I did this myself, through my actions. No Maker required.” Sylvia shrugged, trying to keep light. It was not much of a shock for her – but she knew those more faithful such as Cassandra would be devastated. The Divine didn’t seem to want to debate the existence of Maker with her, which Sylvia was grateful for. “You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you regain all that it took from you.” She groaned inwardly. _There’s more?_

“You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here.” Great, the giant scary demon ruling this part of the Fade now knew her group was traipsing through its territory. That would not end well. Forcing Hawke and Stroud to play nice – at least until they were out of danger – Sylvia plowed on ahead through the Fade.

*~*

It was much more difficult to get moving. The number of demons blocking their way increased alarmingly, and soon her little group was dealing with great shades, pride demons, and despair demons. If Hawke and Stroud hadn’t been there, Sylvia wasn’t sure they would have made through the endless wave of demons. Hordes of demons – Sylvia was saying that much too often nowadays.

The whispering began soon after.

“Ah, we have a visitor.” Sylvia stopped short, looking about widely. From the sudden shocked expressions mirrored on her companions’ faces, they heard it too. “Some silly little girl comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders.” Each word practically dripped malice. _Nightmare_.

“You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You think that pain will make you stronger. What fool filled your mind with such drivel?” The voice grew louder, distracting from her casting. It was grinding into her focus.

“The only one who grows stronger from your fears is _me_.” And Sylvia believed it. Creators, this demon was beyond anything she encountered. Its voice alone brought out fears she longed to forget. _But if I take my nightmares back, the demon can’t grow fat on it, even if it doesn’t strengthen me_.

That thought kept her going more than anything. She always was stubborn when it came to fighting.

“But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten.” The low chuckle that followed the words set her teeth on edge, making her jaws clench tightly. The demon was toying with her.

Relishing the momentary silence, her group pushed on. What other choice was there? Their only hope was to follow the strange Divine Justinia, and pray to their gods that it did not betray them.

Then the templars came. Sylvia felt her familiar anger boiling inside, setting a red haze of pure blood lust over her sight as she simmered with wrath. Sylvia screamed in rage as templars rushed her, their swords brandished in eerie Fade light. Spinning her staff, Sylvia cast lighting at the bastards as Cassandra exclaimed “What are those things?” What was the Seeker on about? She didn’t know how they were here – but templars were templars. After burning the last templar to ashes and melted steel – making sure he suffered – Sylvia led her group further into the Nightmare’s lair. To their disgust, Nightmare began talking again.

“Perhaps _I_ should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition.” The mocking laugh somehow enraged Sylvia even further, her magic barely contained within her skin.

“Are you afraid, Cole? I can help you forget. Just like you help other people. We’re so very much alike, you and I.” The deep voice rumbled, and Sylvia felt Cole growing agitated once again. Crap.

“Greetings, Dorian… it is Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father.” Sylvia felt Dorian still for a moment beside her. “Rather uncalled for.” His voice shook slightly despite the flippant words. Sylvia felt horror growing within her. Her scorching rage was giving way to numbing fear.

“Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker, that all your ‘faith’ has been for naught.” The Nightmare spat out the words at Seeker. “Die in the Void, demon.” Her disgruntled voice made Sylvia’s lips twitch. Cassandra was stubborn too. Undeterred, the voice kept on prodding her little group.

“Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? Fenris is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about.” Well that was a long list. Sylvia looked over at the Champion as she dispatched another templar. “Of course, a fear demon would know where to hurt us most. We must ignore it.” Her nonchalant voice was betrayed by the tight lines around her mouth. “You did save your city Hawke. Kirkwall won’t exist without you. And Fenris is waiting for you out there. I’m sure you’re in more danger than he is at any rate.” Sylvia offered. Champion’s shoulders relaxed a little at that.

“Small fears, too small to shape the Fade themselves. Clinging to the Nightmare. Feeding on the bits it leaves behind.” Cole’s voice suddenly rang out. Small fears?

“And they take the form of spiders, something so many fear.” Spiders?

“Spiders? I see maggots, crawling in filth.” Cassandra’s surprised voice sent cold shivers all over Sylvia. She desperately tried to grab at her remaining anger seeping away.

“They want your fear, so they look how you feel.” Cole explained, and Sylvia couldn’t help how her eyes darted to the templar Hawke had slain. Her eyes found the templar’s eyes. They were impossibly blue.

Bringing her gloved fist to her hand, Sylvia bit down hard. Choking back the scream threatening to tear itself from her throat, Sylvia felt the last of her comforting burn of anger yield to paralyzing fear. It was _them_ , the very same ones from five years ago. She kicked the body away, drawing attention from her companions. Wordlessly, Sylvia moved to where the Divine waited for them. She couldn’t meet any of her friends’ eyes.

The spirit didn’t waste a moment as they approached. “The Nightmare is closer now. It knows you seek escape. With each moment, it grows stronger.” Sylvia methodically collected another set of her memories from the wisps. This time, the vision showed the last time she was in the Fade. As her friends stared in wonder, Sylvia whispered. “This is the Breach back in Haven. That’s how we… how _I_ escaped.”

Sylvia saw herself running weaponless away from the templars with blue eyes. The Divine held her hand out for Sylvia, straining to reach her. She saw the Divine pushing her through the Breach just as the templars reached her. With another shower of lights, the vision was gone.

“It was you.” She looked up to the spirit standing before her. The elderly woman’s face was filled with sorrow. “They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade, but it was the Divine behind me.” Sylvia finally remembered. She finally got her memories back. “And then you… she died.” The Divine died saving _me_.

There was a long pause before the spirit answered. “Yes.”

“So this creature is simply a spirit.” Warden Stroud sounded disappointed. “I am sorry if I disappoint you.” The Divine sounded serene. Sylvia wasn’t so sure of the creature though.

“Are you… her? Did you linger here to help me, instead of passing on?” Her people believed that the spirits of the dead passed through the Beyond. Sylvia had never thought much about it, but looking at the golden creature floating above them now, she wanted to believe.

“If that is the story you wish to tell, it is not a bad one.” Of course the spirit remained cryptic. Sylvia supposed she really hadn’t expected an answer. However, her wonderings were cut short by another wave of templars.

Trying her best to ignore the blue eyes that seemed to tear at her very being, Sylvia fought with her friends. This debate of Divine’s spirit could wait until after they were out of the Nightmare’s clutches. No sooner had that thought passed her mind, the demon spoke again.

“Warden Stroud. How must it feel to devote your whole life to the Wardens, only to watch them fall? Or, worse, to know that you were responsible for their destruction? When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name?” The warden growled angrily. “With the Maker’s blessing, we will end this wretched beast.” Sylvia stabbed froze the templar standing in front of her, and panted. “The Grey Wardens still exist. The warriors are helping the Inquisition against the demons. When the next Blight comes, the Wardens will again march proudly against the darkspawn and the archdemon.” Stroud nodded his thanks.

But Sylvia knew her turn was coming. Dreading the Nightmare’s voice, Sylvia focused all her willpower on moving forward. Moving closer to the demon, she could feel its power growing.

“You always knew deep inside that your lethallins were right about you. You knew as the one marked by the Dread Wolf, you were a greater threat than those human hunters and villagers you slaughtered could ever be to your clan.” The deep voice came again. It sounded almost bored. Sylvia’s hands clenched into a tight fist, and began to shake. Her fangs elongated in her mouth as she bit down on her lips, drawing blood.

“You were never betrayed by your clan, for you were never one of them. And you knew that, didn’t you? You knew you _deserved_ what those templars did to you.” Sylvia couldn’t control her magic anymore. The sparks flew around her, and Dorian yelped as he barely avoided getting shocked.

“Perhaps somewhere deep inside, you enjoyed the encounter? Marked by the Dread Wolf, no one sane would ever want you. They did you a favor. Especially the one with the blue eyes. He was quite handsome, really.”

Screaming herself hoarse, Sylvia set the entire corridor aflame as the memories of the blue eyed templar penetrating her engulfed her. Then Solas was shaking her, trying to bring her back to reality as Cassandra Purged the area before the flames could burn them all. The Nightmare laughed with glee.

“Do you think you can fight me? I am your every fear come to life!” Its voice was filled with triumph.

“I am the Veiled Hand of Corypheus himself! The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me!” More templars came for Sylvia. Screeching, she poured her magic into burning them. She wanted them all to _suffer_.

“So if we banish you, we banish the demons? Thank you, every fear come to life.” The Divine’s voice sounded, and Sylvia realized it was right. She should have noticed it as soon as the demon spoke. The templars were severely diminishing her ability to think and lead. Thankfully, the enemies blocking their way were demons now, and not templars.

When Sylvia found the graveyard with their fears written on the gravestone, she couldn’t hold back the bitter laugh that made her friends flinch. She watched as each of her friends found their own gravestone to see their darkest worries revealed so clearly. Some she already knew, such as Bull’s or Cole’s. Others such as Blackwall’s and Solas’s left her confused. The Sylvia saw the largest gravestone with her name written on it. Even without reading the words, she knew what it would say. _Templars_. Howling, Sylvia struck the stone with her dagger, putting enough force behind the blow to crack the words and shattering her blade.

She was going to torture the Nightmare in every way possible.

*~*

Relying on her rage which returned with twice the force, Sylvia swept through the demons the Nightmare through at them with ease. Her wrath fueled her magic, burning hotter, frosting colder.

When the Divine brought the magic barrier down that was protecting the heart of the demon’s lair, Sylvia stormed forward, elated with twisted pleasure at the thought of finally hurting the Nightmare.

A demon in giant rotting, hairy spider form with tentacles greeted her small group, bringing them all into stop. Even Sylvia with her blinding rage knew there was no way her small group could defeat such a powerful demon. A smaller demon in spidery fear form was floating about it as well.

“If you would, please tell Leliana, ‘I am sorry. I failed you, too.’” Sylvia’s head whipped around to the golden spirit. It sounded peaceful. Then it floated up to the Nightmare, somehow stunning it with its power shining like fire.

With the huge adversary taken care of, her group engaged the spidery fear demon. As trying as the entire affair was, the Aspect of the Nightmare was easier to take on than the huge Nightmare was.

Sylvia and Dorian repeated shocked the Aspect with electric bolts as Solas covered them all in protective green barrier. Hawke and Stroud kept the little fears at bay – Sylvia was glad she didn’t have to worry about more templars – while Cassandra and Cole hacked away at the Aspect. Every one of them had been goaded by the Nightmare – they were all too glad to hurt it just as much as she was.

But the Nightmare was truly a powerful demon, and her group had fought through too many demons. When Dorian and Solas finally ran out of lyrium potions, she tossed all her remaining potions to them. They couldn’t fight without magic while she could. Drawing her daggers out, she spun and cut in synch with Cole. Finding the weak points in its armored body, she slashed with her wicked grace.

Then Cassandra pushed all her force behind one blow with her shied, and it was flung down to the floor. Pouncing at the chance, Sylvia pushed her foot down on the Aspect, and stabbed her daggers into the body. One went straight for its corrupted heart, while the other slit the vein in its throat, spurting blood all over her.

As Sylvia grinned in triumph, the Aspect began to transform. Worried, Sylvia tried to pull her daggers back out to jump away. Human hands grasped hers, closing over her pommels. Sylvia tried to wrench her arms free, but the strong warrior hands kept her locked in place easily.

Panicking, she watched as the Aspect turned into a form so easy to recognize. Cullen. Her eyes saw the wicked scar on the soft lips as it curled into cruel smile. His handsome face was contorted in pain and death. Her daggers still buried deep in his chest, his furred cloak was drenched with his blood.

Cullen’s eyes met hers then, and Sylvia screamed in horror. Pair of blue eyes stared up at her.


	25. Her Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finds out about Sylvia's first meeting with the templars five years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you all for reading, and please let me know what you think!
> 
> Few elven phrases coming up by the end of the chapter. Meaning is written in the end notes

Sylvia stumbled into her tent and fell into the cot. Somehow, they made it back from the Fade. In the dreadful waking terror, Sylvia wadded through Warden Stroud’s valiant sacrifice and recruitment of Grey Wardens. People protested for giving the Wardens another chance, but with the possibility of Corypheus’s dragon being an archdemon still present, Sylvia couldn’t banish the Wardens.

After all, only Grey Wardens could defeat an archdemon. After making her announcement in the courtyard, Sylvia fled to her tent, doing her best to avoid the worried Commander. It was fairly easy – Cullen was tasked with organizing everyone for the march back to Skyhold. He would probably work through the night again.

Stuffing her face into the soft pillows, Sylvia let out a muffled cry. The Nightmare had brought her darkest memories to the forefront of her mind – Sylvia was certain she was going to relieve the experience if she succumbed to her bone weary exhaustion. She was too afraid of her sharpened dreams to even consider getting the rest her body was in dire need of.

Huddling on the cot with silent tears streaming down her face, she did not hear Solas and Dorian entering her tent.

“Love, you’re getting your sheets all bloody. I know you don’t mind getting your hands a bit dirty, but shouldn’t you at least leave blood off your bed?” Dorian’s soft voice startled her violently. She scrambled to the edge of her cot, holding her pillow tight against her body. Creators, she must look ridiculous, acting like a frightened child. But she couldn’t stop her limbs from shaking.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Dorian approached her and gently tugged her out of her armors. Solas was standing there, his presence somehow comforting. She once again felt the mysterious connection she did not understand. It was as if he knew exactly who she was, even better than she knew herself.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to trouble you. Both of you went through the same as me. Creators, what a sight I must be.” Sylvia sobbed out. She couldn’t believe how weak she was.

“Don’t be silly.” Dorian’s arms wrapped around her protectively, and Sylvia leaned into him. “That demon threw its worst at you. Quite disappointed really. That thing was so focused on you that it completely failed to comment on the possibility of losing my impeccable sense of fashion.” Solas sat in a chair across from her, and held her hand.

“You foiled Corypheus’ plan yet again. You’ve struck another blow against him, and it was by your own hand. You deserve the small respite. I know you miss your wolves, but maybe I can replace them for tonight.”

Sylvia nodded her thanks, sniffing. Somehow, Solas’s offer made sense. Sylvia had never felt comfortable showing her vulnerabilities to anybody but her wolves, but her new friends were different from her clan mates. They didn’t judge her. They didn’t shame her for crying.

She felt her mindless panic starting to ebb away. Dorian’s practiced fingers were unbraiding her hair, shaking out her curls from their tight coils atop her head. It was soothing.

“You’re not alright, are you?” Dorian’s voice was slightly strained.

“No, I don’t think I am.”

“This was even worse than that twisted future was. We are going to need lots and lots of drinks to wash this one way.” Sylvia let out a chocked laugh at that. “Oh, don’t worry. The moment we are back in Skyhold, I plan to raid Bull’s Maraas-Lok stash.” Dorian made a face at that. “That foul thing? I can’t believe you want to drink that again. It’s like drinking sewage.”

“It knocks me right out. It’s what I need. You will join me, won’t you? Don’t make me drink alone.” Dorian let out an exaggerated sigh. “Friendship. It makes me do the stupidest things.” She giggled.

“The shape Aspect of Nightmare took on at the end… it was the Commander, was it not?” Solas’ words immediately wiped the grin off her face. “It was meant for you.”

“You saw it? I thought the fears appeared differently for all of us.” Sylvia could hear the scalding heat in her own words. Dorian shifted next to her. “The last one, I think we all saw it as the Commander. I think it was too focused on you to reflect any other shape.”

So everybody who had been with her in the Fade saw her scream in fear as the Nightmare took the Commander’s form. Oh no. And they all read the word Templar written on her gravestone.

“Sylvia, you… the Commander isn’t a man that would attack you. You are aware of that, right?” Dorian’s hesitant reminder suddenly enraged her.

“I am well aware that Commander is no longer a Templar.” She spat. She knew that better than Dorian ever would.

“Thank you for coming to see me, but I am quite all right now. Go tell Cassandra and anybody else who was in the Fade that if they write that little bit of information on their report, I will personally burn them alive in the most painful way possible.” The brazier in her tent roared with her magic. “And I mean to follow through on this threat.”

The two mages looked worried, but they left her alone. Sylvia lay awake that entire night, worrying over just how she was supposed to see Cullen again.

 

* * *

 

Cullen dropped heavily into his cot, face resting fully in his gloved hands. The dawn was only few hours away – as he had to work through the night to get the Wardens organized for the march back to Skyhold. And the fear he’d felt earlier when Sylvia fell off the bridge had drained him completely. She was back in the real world now, safe. That knowledge kept him on his feet.

Cullen sighed as yet another messenger came into his cot, saluted, dropped a report on his desk and left. Maker, will there ever be an end to this stream of paperwork?

He looked up as the tent flap opened up once again, expecting to see another messenger. Instead, a familiar woman walked in.

“Hawke.” He greeted her.

“Cullen.” She matched his terse manner. “Commander now, hmm? Seems it was just yesterday we were fighting in the gallows.”

He ignored her jibe. “Did you need something?”

“You look like shit.”

“Hawke, I’m too tired to deal with your issues. What do you want?”

She walked over after considering for a moment. Dragging his chair over with her foot, she sat down facing him. Her staff was in her hand.

“You’ve changed, Curly.”

“Maker, will you ever stop with the nickname? My hair isn’t that curly.”

“You started to do something to your hair, didn’t you?” She smirked as Cullen blushed lightly.

“You really did change. Who’d have thought, the famed Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, no longer a hater of mages.”

“I was blinded by anger. I’m not proud of who I was, but I won’t deny it either.” Hawke looked at him for a long time.

“I believe you. Truth be told, I like how you turned out. Varric agrees too.”

Cullen simply nodded.

“I came by to see it for myself. Varric said you were sweet on the Inquisitor. Couldn’t believe it, until I saw the way you looked at her.”

“Hawke, I didn’t change enough to sit down with you and gossip like I got nothing better to do.”

“Really? Even if I say I think you got a shot at her?” Cullen rolled his eyes.

“Fine. I’m leaving tomorrow. Heading for Weisshaupt to warn the Wardens there against Corypheus. I just wanted to come by and tell you that I noticed that you’ve matured. I like the man you’ve grown up to be. And thanks for letting me go peacefully in Kirkwall. It needed to be said, and I don’t know if I’ll ever have the chance to do so again.”

Cullen smiled, perhaps for the first time, at the Champion. Maker, they’ve fought together so often, protecting each other’s back in Kirkwall, despite his mistrust of her.

“I’m sure you’ll pop up again to get on my nerves. You always do, Hawke. And you always will. Safe travels, Marian.”

 

* * *

 

As hard as Sylvia tried, she couldn’t survive without sleep. And sleep always came with nightmares. Nightmares that left her shaking and crying in the mornings – and Sylvia couldn’t wake herself from the dreams. The Anchor on her hand snared her too closely to Fade for that.

Solas’ concoctions which supposedly blocked dreaming didn’t help much either. So she settled for sleeping only when her body couldn’t stand to be awake anymore, and casting muffling spells so the servants couldn’t hear her screams. It wouldn’t do for Skyhold to find out that their Inquisitor suffered from constant nightmares. Sylvia briefly wondered if it was the Nightmare demon’s attempt at revenge.

She couldn’t avoid Cullen forever either. They met quite often during the War Meetings and trainings, but Sylvia did her best to evade their private chess games and hunts when she could. She went as far as attending meetings with the nobles Josephine asked her to join in order to escape him.

And she couldn’t meet his eyes no matter how hard she tried. Sylvia knew they would be the same color as his hair – warm golden eyes as it always had been. But she feared that her terrified mind would see icy blue eyes in its place, and couldn’t muster up the courage to look at him directly.

Cullen wasn’t stupid – he was sure to know she was avoiding him by now. There was no way he didn’t know. Sylvia hated the gap that opened up between them, even as she was relieved by it. And she was too cowardly to admit to him exactly why she was treating him so unfairly. It ate at her.

Despite the safety and comfort the Skyhold and her wolves nearby brought, Sylvia traveled to any and all areas that demanded her presence. She went back to the Western Approach to kill the Abyssal High Dragon. She made contact with Scout Harding at Hissing Wastes, yet another desert. With her friends, Sylvia combed through the hidden dwarven ruins and stopped the Venatori movements in the area. But truly, what was it with dreadful areas and evil darkspawn magister’s lackeys? Sylvia even went back to the Storm Coast to kill the high dragon there – the Vinsomer.

But eventually Sylvia had to return to Skyhold yet again. Dreading the countless war meetings she was sure to suffer through with the Commander, Sylvia arrived at her keep.

 

* * *

 

Cullen heard the bells toiling near sundown, signaling Sylvia’s return to Skyhold for the first time in weeks. He was just reading the report Harding had sent him from the Hissing Wastes.

_Commander_

_Inquisitor’s presence in the Hissing Wastes had monumental effect in increasing the Inquisition’s influence over the area. And it truly is a dreadful area, every bit as bad as Inquisitor’s made it out to be. Countless hostiles are in the area even after the Fade Rifts spitting out pride, despair, and greater terror demons were sealed. There are giant poisonous spiders lurking about, along with varghests and wyvern. And of course the Venatori mages and Red Templars too. They are everywhere._

_While she was here, Lady Inquisitor’s finally found that missing patrol we’ve been searching for. Looks like they were done in by the poisonous and giant spiders. She’s gathered up their remains and keepsakes for proper burial and their families. I can’t believe she took the time to do so._

_There were some ancient dwarven ruins on the surface. Inquisitor’s made a preliminary sweeps of the area, and have already disabled the traps laid there. They revealed this thing called tomb of Fairel. Not quite sure what it is, but she found lots of gears there Inquisition could use. I’ve attached the schematics she’s found for Harritt. She requested researchers to the area to examine these ruins more carefully._

_The Venatori camp which I’ve already sent report of earlier has been wiped out by the Inquisitor. She’s killed all the Venatori mages that was present in the camp, and the remaining mages are few and far in between that the forces currently present Hissing Wastes have no trouble finishing them off. Lady Inquisitor’s writing more detailed report on this herself to be sent to Skyhold._

_Lastly, Lady Inquisitor went on a hunt for this legendary varghest she heard about from one of the hunters out here. That thing was massive! The scales and leather gathered from the beast is absolutely top quality._

_There isn’t much else to add – there aren’t that many Red Templars around. Unless Corypheus decides to send an army here, there shouldn’t be any more trouble. I will report back to Skyhold._

_Scout Harding_

He knew Sylvia was needed out in the field, being the only person who could close the Fade Rifts, but he couldn’t help but feel as if she did her best to avoid Skyhold since the siege at Adamant Fortress. Specifically, he felt that Sylvia was avoiding  _him_. He couldn’t remember the last time he had played chess with her.

However he  _did_  remember the last time they went out hunting – too vividly in fact. Cullen flushed hard as he remembered how soft her lips had been against his own. Her lips brushed softly on his scar, licking and tugging gently with her teeth. Maker, she had felt so good. Her mouth was sweet like flower, and in that freezing cold cave, she had burned as hot as fire.

And now, she avoided him to the point where she would volunteer to meet with those insufferable nobles. Sighing, Cullen ran his fingers through his hair before rubbing his neck. Maker, what has he done? Stuck in a snowstorm, alone with her for the first time since Haven, it had seemed like a small natural thing to do. Even Fen and Assan hadn’t been there.

But apparently it drove the Inquisitor away from Skyhold at every possible opportunity. Cullen’s eyes glanced back down to Harding’s report again. Hunting legendary varghests. She was definitely avoiding him.

She was the Inquisitor. He was the Commander of Inquisition. They were at war. Cullen kicked himself mentally. How could he have been so stupid? They couldn’t afford to waste time or effort to hunt random varghests out in the desert. If it was the… kiss… that was driving her to act so irrationally, Cullen knew he needed to confront her.

Sighing, he glanced out of his window. Sometime during his mental tirade, the moon rose high above the mountains. The long parade of messengers bearing reports had trickled to a stop with the disappearance of the sun. He knew Fen was out with his pack, hunting while the Inquisitor was gone. Assan was delivering another of his letters to his family. She would be alone in her quarters now.

He strode over to his door, opening it with a slightly shaking hand. He would confront her before the matters spun out of control. And now was the best time. She would be tired from her travels, but Sylvia was never quite alone. And this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with the huge grey wolf eyeing him the entire time.

Passing through Solas’ rotunda, he noted the elf was asleep already. Was it already so late? Perhaps the travel had been a hard one. In the Great Hall, only few servants were present. Most of the nobles already retired for the night. He knocked on the door leading up to her quarters, but received no answer.

Maker, the last time he barged in she had been naked. But this conversation couldn’t wait, for the sake of Inquisition. And Cullen didn’t think he would be able to work up the courage again. Steeling himself, he opened the door and let himself in. Perhaps he should post some female guards in front of her door in the future to check if she was decent.

Walking up the stairs, Cullen purposely stepped heavily to let Sylvia know he was coming up. He didn’t want to catch her naked again. But at the top of the stairs, Cullen realized he needn’t have bothered. Sylvia was already sleeping in her bed, covers drawn up to her angled chin.

He didn’t want to wake her. The conversation needed to happen, but Cullen didn’t want to disturb her rest to do so. Sighing, he turned to leave. That was when he felt her pull at the Veil.

Tensing, Cullen readied to Cleanse the area if need be. She was asleep, and he wasn’t naïve enough to think she wouldn’t attack him in her sleep. Last time, she nearly blasted his head off his shoulders… But she didn’t cast spells. She started screaming instead.

Worried, Cullen shot to her bedside. Veil twisted and writhed around her, responding to her distress. It was clear she was having a nightmare, but she wasn’t waking up.

_‘It is difficult to tell my dreams from waking moments now… seems I am trapped until the nightmare either plays itself out to the end, or someone else wakes me…’_

Cullen dimly remembered Sylvia telling her that when they played chess for the first time. Grimacing, Cullen shook her hard. He knew all too well the pain of being trapped inside a nightmare. She only screamed louder, tangling the sheets around her arms. Maker, how was he supposed to wake her?

Eyeing the jar on her desk, he rushed to grab it hoping it contained water. Sylvia was going to burn her bed to ashes at this rate. He didn’t want to Purge her if possible – didn’t even know if he could with the lack of lyrium intake.

“Don’t you dare touch me,  _Templar!_ ” Sylvia’s shriek stopped him cold in his tracks, his hand reaching out for the jug. He turned to look at the elf on the bed. Was she awake? Was she speaking to him?

No. Her eyes were glassy, clearly seeing things somewhere in the Fade. He picked up the jar, as she screamed out curses in elven. Thank the Maker, it was filled with water. He ran back to the bed.

“I will  _burn_  you alive, Templar!” She screamed, once again using the common tongue. He splashed her with the water, drenching the bed. Not a moment too soon – there was smoke rising from the sheets already as she thrashed.

But she still wasn’t waking up. With worry, Cullen noted that her Marked hand was blazing. Even through his dulled Templar senses, he could tell it was somehow drawing power.

“I will hunt you down, tear your throat out, watch your blood run down my blades! I will make you choke on your own guts!” Sylvia’s screeching didn’t stop. Cullen pulled at the lyrium in his blood, cursing at how sluggish its response was. Cullen hasn’t used his Templar abilities since Kirkwall. He used his body to immobilize her on the bed, worried she would hurt herself.

“Killers! Abusers! Rapists! I will hunt down every Templar until none remains! No Templar will ever touch me as you have. Know that your Order’s blood and destruction are on your hands! Your abominable lust will bring thousands to their excruciating death.” Sylvia hissed out, her eyes still blazing with anger at unseen Templar somewhere above her. Cullen lost the grip on his lyrium as shock knocked all senses out of him.

“Shameless bastards! Couldn’t find anyone willing to handle your nasty desires? Do you feel satisfied raping helpless mages? No wonder you have to resort to such methods! You Templars are revolting! Nothing more than mindless beasts tied with lyrium chains to your fucking chantry!”

Templar Hunter. That’s what the villagers of Free Marches had called her. She didn’t hunt Templars for sport – she hunted for revenge. Cullen felt his mouth dry with the horrendous realization.

“Dirthara-ma, Templar! Bellanaris Din’an Heem!” Sylvia was back to shouting in elven, and Cullen mentally shook himself. He needed to wake her now, whatever the cost may be. He again pulled at the lyrium, forcing it to respond to his commands.

“I will have my nan!” Whatever nan was, Cullen didn’t want to know. With all of his willpower he could muster, he focused the Silence onto her hand. He didn’t want to disrupt her magic – he couldn’t bear to think of what that would do to her in this state – but to stop the Mark from keeping her in the Nightmare.

The Mark twisted and shuddered, blinking out for a split second before it pulsed with sickly green as usual. Cullen sagged with sudden exhaustion.

Thank the Maker, she was awake.

Cullen’s eyes found hers. Sylvia’s black eyes were impossibly wide, fear shining through them but they were no longer glassy. She was drenched from the water he threw on her earlier, but she didn’t seem to notice. All her attention was focused on to him.

Him, the ex-Templar. Closest thing to a Templar to her at the moment. Practically lying on top of her, his hand pinning her Marked hand down. His heavy armored body pressing her into the mattress, effectively restraining her completely.

He lurched off the bed as quickly as his shaky legs would allow, moving as far away as possible. Andraste preserve him, he was too spent to do anything in his defense if she decided to attack.

His heart beat once, twice, and three times in complete silence that engulfed her room. Sylvia wasn’t pulling at the Veil. Could he dare to hope she wasn’t going to attack him?

“Cu… Cullen?” Her voice shook, a sob breaking through. “Are you… is this… real?” Hesitantly, he nodded at her. He knew what it was like to wake up from nightmares. He still wondered sometimes if he was in fevered dreams, lying in the magical cage back in Kinloch Hold.

Sylvia broke down, crying into her pillows. Maker, what was he supposed to do now? There was no way he was going to touch her – the lyrium flowing in his blood must be repulsive for her. And yet, he didn’t think he could leave her crying alone in that huge bed.

“Cullen… Please don’t leave.” She gasped out between the sobs wrecking her body. “Please… please don’t leave me alone.”

Cullen took a tentative step forward, watching her intently. She couldn’t possibly want  _him_  any closer after that nightmare, could she? Sylvia wept harder into her pillow clutched to her chest. “Please, Cullen.”

Andraste preserve me. He couldn’t just stand there after  _that_. He slowly strode back to the bed, still hesitant about touching her.

She threw herself into his arms, clutching at him desperately. Startled, Cullen barely caught her before she fell. There was no way she was comfortable, crushing herself against his silverite armor. Against him. But she didn’t let him go. After a moment, he held her tenderly. He held her until she cried herself back to sleep. He held her until the rising sun shone through her windows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirthara-ma: "May you learn." Used as a curse.  
> Bellanaris Din'an Heem: "Make you dead."[9] "Bellanaris Din'an" roughly translates to "eternal death," and "heem" is most likely a conjugation of the verb, "to become" (see "Him").  
> Nan: revenge; vengeance.
> 
> Taken from dragon age wikia Elven language page


	26. Messy Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Sylvia has a talk about everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! I re-wrote this chapter three times! It was just really difficult one to write. As always, thanks for helping me out gabtinha, and please everyone, let me know what you guys all think!

Sylvia woke slowly, as the warm sun rays kissed her face gently. Creators, how long had it been since she didn’t wake up with ghosts of Templars’ hands lingering on her skin? Far, far too long, for sure. For the first time since the Adamant fortress, for the first time in _weeks_ , Sylvia felt rested.

Feeling happy for once, Sylvia snuggled up into her bed, tugging the warm sheets higher up around her shoulders. She squeezed her eyes tight against the bright sunshine spilling through her windows. She wasn’t going to climb out into the cold air until she absolutely had to. This morning was just too perfect to waste with insufferable fluffy nobles. She was going to stay right here, cuddling with her soft pillows and sheets until Josie ran up into her quarters and dragged her off the bed.

But why was her pillow so damned stiff? Sylvia lazily raised her hand to the mildly offending object, intending to fluff it up. Her hand instead touched the smooth surface of a cool metal.

Sylvia’s eyes flew open at the contact, her confused mind taking in the silverite armor that was encasing her body. Her eyes were met with golden ones. “Good morning” He greeted her sheepishly, and Sylvia saw a light flush wash over his face. _What in the Void -?!_

She’s never moved so fast in her entire life. Sylvia scrambled to get off of him – why was she _on_ him? – and only succeeded in making him hold onto her tighter as she nearly threw herself off the bed. Every trace of grace she held onto easily with her Dalish blood deserted her in this moment, leaving her limbs hopelessly entangled with the sheets in his lap.

“Cullen? What in Fen’Harel’s name are you doing in my bed?!”

Looking worried, Cullen easily picked up the mess that was her, and gently placed her on the mattress before standing stiffly. Sylvia could almost hear his muscles groaning in protest at the movement.

“You don’t remember?” His voice was wary as he walked away from the bed.

“I… I arrived yesterday. I remember being too tired to take a bath and Storm Coast was wet enough anyway. So I just changed and went to sleep… I am pretty sure I didn’t have a drop of that foul thing Bull drinks last night, unless Sera came in and poured it down my throat…?” Sylvia mentally recounted the previous night’s events, hoping for some semblance of a reason as to why her _Commander_ of all people was _in her bed_.

“Nothing weird happened! Unless I got possessed by demons last night? No, that’s ridiculous. They were just normal nightmares.” That stopped her short. Her nightmares.

She remembered the blue eyed templar haunting her dreams the moment her eyes closed. She had been screaming at those cold icy blue eyes last night.

And suddenly, the blue eyes were turned into concerned honey – golden ones.

She didn’t wake up from nightmares by herself. Her Marked hand prevented that. Cullen must have somehow waked her up to give her a respite from the nightmares.

Her heart sank. “Did I attack you?” Her voice barely a whisper, Sylvia feared for his answer.

Cullen seemed to consider the question a moment before shaking his head no and Sylvia sighed in heavy relief. She had managed to control herself then.

But Cullen was still standing as far as he could from her. Confused, Sylvia studied Cullen’s tightly drawn face. If she hadn’t attack him, and he wasn’t afraid of her magic, then…

“You know.” Her voice was devoid of any emotion this time. It was flat, lifeless.

Cullen flinched. It was more than enough of an answer.

Her magic exploded, blasting the table and copper tub against the far wall, smashing them to pieces. Windows shattered, cold mountain winds instantly whipping through the room, making the fire in her hearth dance wildly. Reports that were piled up on the table fluttered across her chambers, and books were shredded to pieces.

Cullen made no effort to dodge her outburst despite the deadly force of it. Howling in frustration, Sylvia directed her magic away from her Commander standing by the stairs. The bookshelf flew up into the ceiling, splinters flying everywhere as the heavy wooden furniture split in half. Her huge room lay in ruins. But Cullen stood unharmed.

Small whirlwind persisted around the two, her magic betraying her agitation which her stony face did not.

She remembered now. She remembered staring into his amber eyes and feeling reassured. All those weeks she spent avoiding his imagined blue eyes, and yet one look had melted her fears away. Sylvia had thrown herself at him like a small child, weeping. And he wrapped her in her sheets and allowed her to fall asleep curled up against him. The comforting lull of his particular lyrium winding in harmony with her magic had fended off her nightmares for the rest of the night.

Suddenly, she was dreadfully tired. The weight of him knowing pressed heavily into her, making her slump against the pillows. Sighing, Sylvia untangled herself from the sheets and leaned back against the headboard.

“I’m done, Cullen.” Sylvia waived her hands, dismissing the remaining small tornados in her room. “You can come over here now.” He hesitated. Of course he hesitated.

Meeting his eyes – Creators, it was so easy to meet his eyes now – Sylvia spoke again. “Cullen, get back over here.”

He reluctantly walked over, standing at the edge of her bed. He stood at attention, his stiff body telling her of his discomfort. She patted the bed in front of her. “Sit.”

Cullen’s bewildered face brought a small twitch of a smile to her face.

“I won’t bite, I promise.”

His heavy weight pressed deeply into her mattress, and Sylvia idly noted how the bed bowed more than usual. Fen was a huge wolf, but judging from the way her mattress sunk in, the silverite armor must be heavier. How did he move so quickly in such heavy plate armor?

Her eyes followed the armor up to his face, and sighed. Judging from the tiredness lurking in his eyes, Cullen did not get a wink of sleep last night. She assumed he also didn’t move a single muscle during the entire night as he held her, remembering how stiffly he stood earlier. He was usually much more graceful and fluid than that.

“Inquisitor, I…” Cullen trailed off as Sylvia grimaced at her title. “Perhaps this conversation isn’t fit for such titles.” Cullen backpedaled. She nodded, agreeing wordlessly.

“Sylvia.” He tried again, and she noted how his voice seemed to linger on her name slightly, tasting it. It was the first time he had spoken her name aloud.

“So you _do_ know my name. I was starting to wonder.” Sylvia was rewarded a slight twitch of his lips for her efforts at lifting the mood.

“Yes, well, I did read Leliana’s report on you.” Oh? Sylvia raised her eyebrows at him. Sylvia had suspected, of course – Leliana would have failed as a Spymaster if she hadn’t done so – but it was the first time that any of her advisors admitted to digging into her personal background. Cullen must be truly out of it to fumble so much.

Noticing his own miss, he hurried on. “What I am trying to say is, I didn’t… I wasn’t… Maker, it wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t mean to find out about… that is…” Sylvia watched as Cullen worked himself into the trap, keeping her lips tight to stop herself from smiling. Looking horrified at what he had been about to say, Cullen flushed red and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I am sorry. Maker, how repulsive I must be to you.” He turned away, looking at the mess her room was in. He was holding his body so rigid, as far away from her as possible on her huge bed.

Sylvia leaned forward, letting her fingers graze his fist bunched tight on the bed. His surprised eyes whipped around at the touch. “Of course it wasn’t on purpose. I know that Cullen. It was me who was screaming the words out, and you were just caught at the inopportune moment.” He didn’t say anything.

“What exactly were you doing in my quarters anyway? You seem to be making a habit of being in my room while I am unconscious.” Sylvia knew that would get a reaction out of him.

“I wasn’t… that is, I knew you’d be alone here and… Andraste guide me, that sounded completely wrong. It wasn’t anything like that! I just wanted to talk to you while Fen and Assan wasn’t around. About… hunting.”

“Hunting? You walked in on my worst, most private memory, because you wanted to talk about _hunting?_ ” Sylvia nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. Cullen blanched.

“Well, specifically our last hunting trip together.” And Sylvia finally understood. The last hunting trip when they had been stranded by the snow storm, and she… they… kissed. Creators, he must have thought she was avoiding him because of that. Oh Fenedhis! How stupid could she possibly be?

“I thought... well, I thought that the reason you were avoiding me was because of the kiss. Maker, what have I done? I never knew… I never realized that you… How can you stand to be in my presence? Why didn’t you stop me in the cave?” Sylvia watched worriedly as Cullen grew agitated.

“Maker, to think that I _kissed_ you! I never once spared a thought for how you would feel. Andraste forgive me, I have lusted after you, no better than those vile monsters you must have faced before.”

“Cullen!”

“How can you sit here so close to me? Maker, those rapists were once my _brothers!_ Maker knows I have behaved no better than they-”

Sylvia pulled herself into him, kissing his lips. Her teeth bit his open lips roughly, and her tongue drove into his surprised mouth. Gripping his wild curly hair with her hands, she threw herself into the kiss with abandon, silencing his self-deprecating words.

Cullen froze beneath her, at a complete loss. Sylvia pulled back before he had a chance to either push her away or return the kiss, sitting back down on her bare legs while panting heavily.

He worked his jaw, attempting to get words to break through his shock. “Sylvia… I…”

“I kissed you.” She said sharply. “It was _me_ , who kissed you first. That’s how it was in the cave, and that’s what happened just now. _I_ kissed _you_.”

“But…”

“Shut up. I’m not done.” Sylvia growled.

Steeling herself, Sylvia forced Cullen to look into her eyes by pressing her hand to his cheek.

“I told you my lethallins betrayed me once, didn’t I?” He silently nodded. “I already told you that five templars ambushed me. What I didn’t say was, they decided… to… have fun. I attacked when they made their intentions clear. I didn’t expect to win, but it was better than the alternative.” Her lips curled in a silent snarl, her long canine fangs growing in anger.

“I was young, and have never encountered a templar before. I would have bit my tongue off the moment I met them if I had known better. It… took a while for the wolves to find me. But they all died painfully that night. I made certain.” Her hands shook, and Sylvia lowered it from his face worried that she would accidentally burn him. He did not break the eye contact with her.

“There was one Templar that was… particular. He had these cruel blue eyes. I killed him last. In the Fade at Adamant… the Nightmare knew our deepest fears. Waves after waves of that templar attacked.” Her hand started to smoke, and Sylvia tried to channel her anger, directing it to the fire burning on the log in her hearth. The flame grew in size remarkably.

“When we defeated the Aspect of the Nightmare, it… it took your form. I was out of mana and lyrium, and I struck the killing blow. My daggers were stabbing into your form… and you… it… the Aspect had his blue eyes too.” The fire roared, burning the splintered woods around it. “The reason I avoided you was because even knowing it was foolish, I feared to look into your eyes and see the familiar blue. The kiss we shared before had no part in it.”

Cullen’s eyes were clouded with concerns. “The Fade… I hadn’t realized what a harrowing experience it had been for you.” Sylvia shrugged, trying to bring her mind back to the present.

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. Getting to kill your most hated enemy again and again in variety of painful ways has its own merits.” She tried to smile at him.

“When we kissed, I did it willingly. It may have been an irresponsible thing to do for two people tasked with saving the world, but I wanted to, and I acted on my desires, not yours. Never again will I be forced to serve another’s unless it coincided with mine.”

Cullen started to protest. “But I was a Templar!”

“I _wanted_ it. If I didn’t, your body would be smoking pile of ashes, Cullen. Or ribbons if Fen got to you in time.”

“How? How could you possibly want _me?_ I was the prime example of the Order!”

“Creators, Cullen! You’re not a Templar anymore – you said so yourself!” Cullen was finally shocked into silence.

She gently held his hands, her eyes never leaving his. “I was confused, even more than you were. Barely few months ago the lyrium in your blood drove me to a blood lust so potent I feared I may murder you if I was ever alone with you. But now the song your lyrium sings only brings me peace and comfort. You kept me safe from my nightmares last night.”

She shifted, moving closer to Cullen so that her legs folded under her were touching his, and looked into his amber eyes, counting the gold specks.

“Cullen, I care for you. You, a man struggling to overcome the chains of lyrium that the chantry has used to bind you. You, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall. You, who carries me to my bed without fail every time I am unconscious. You, the Commander of Inquisition forces, who is no longer a Templar.”

She leaned in, her face mere inches from his face. Her lips traced his scar with the barest hint of a touch as she had the first time in the snowstorm.

“Sylvia…” Cullen breathed out, his fists clenched tightly against the sheets, his body completely immobile.

“I want more than a kiss, Cullen. I want… _more_. You may have left the templars, but I do not know if you trust the mages. Could you think of me as anything more?” Sylvia closed her eyes, murmuring softly. Her lips were so close to his, she thought she could feel the soft full lips. And yet she did not allow herself to close that small distance. That would be _his_ choice.

“I could. I mean, I do… think of you. In many ways that I probably should not admit.” His words warmed her, and she smiled happily.

“It just seems too much to ask.” His sweet breath tingled her face.

“And yet I’m still here, Cullen.”

“So you are…” Tentatively, Cullen leaned in to brush his lips against hers, almost chaste in manner. Sylvia sighed happily, relaxing into his body as she gently licked his scar before nibbling on his lips. His response delighted her- Cullen’s body shuddering against hers as he groaned in pleasure. Her hands ached to stroke his handsome face.

But before Sylvia could do anything, Cullen suddenly brought her into a deep embrace, pressing his tongue into her. She welcomed him, an involuntarily moan escaping from her lips. He tasted so sweet! Her arms wound around his neck, trying to pull him in even closer. He hummed pleasantly as he lightly bit down on her lips – Creators, where did a chantry boy learn to kiss so well?

When they broke apart to gasp for breath, clear laughter of pure joy spilled from her.

“That was… um… really nice.” He blushed furiously. How did he manage to sound so… _innocent?_ Just a moment ago he had her moaning and writhing against his lips!

“That was exactly what I wanted.” She sighed into his chest.

Cullen smiled gently at her, his mouth – Fen’Harel take her, those soft perfect lips swollen from their kiss! – twitching into a half smile that made him look oh so perfect. Sylvia moved her gaze away quickly, before he could see her blush. And saw the mess that was her room.

“Oh Josephine is going to kill me! How am I supposed to explain this mess?” Cullen looked around and shrugged, his arms still wrapped around her tightly. “Whatever it is you come up with, please don’t include me in it. Josephine will have my hide.”

“And what were you thinking standing there, gawking about?” Sylvia suddenly felt her anger flare up again as she remembered how he had stood, unwilling to defend himself. “I could have killed you! You should have Silenced me the moment my magic ran rampant! Your hide, ser, is the last thing I am worried about at the moment. I should toss you into Josephine’s noble tea parties for what you’ve done!”

And the man had the _gall_ to laugh! Despite her annoyance, Sylvia enjoyed how his chest rumbled with his clear voice.

“Just for that, I’m using you as the scapegoat for this mess.” Sylvia narrowed her eyes at him.

“Yes, well, as long as it’s not those dreadful tea parties, I’ll be fine.” His eyes were amused, and Sylvia couldn’t hold onto her temper any longer. Dread Wolf take her, his golden eyes were just so unfair.

“Speaking of hides, may I ask something?”

“Of course.” Sylvia tried not to get lost in his eyes.

“Why are you wearing my shirt?”

Huh?

“Your shirt?” Sylvia looked down at herself, finally remembering she was not wearing her armor as usual around him. In fact, she was wearing nothing but her smalls and a huge shirt that came down to her mid-thighs.

Suddenly very aware of her indecent state, Sylvia pulled the sheets over her legs.

“This is _your_ shirt? Creators, no one told me! It’s what I woke up in after that mess at Haven. It was soft, and nobody asked for it back so I got used to sleeping in it.”

“Right, I remember. You didn’t have anything to wear after the healers peeled your armor off. I gave them one of my shirts to get you covered. I must admit I forgot about it afterwards.”

“Can I keep it?” Cullen looked surprised at her question. “It’s just so warm and soft. And huge. I… I kind of like it.”

“Of course.” Cullen waved a hand dismissively. “I have other shirts.”

“Not that we know if you wear them. You’re always in that armor of yours.” Cullen just chuckled. Looking at his gentle face, Sylvia had to tell him.

“Thank you for staying with me Cullen. I haven’t felt this rested in a long time.” Sylvia tried to pour sincerity into her words, hoping he could hear them.

“I… you’re welcome Sylvia.” He said her name again. She liked how it sounded with his voice.

“And I should let you get ready for facing Josephine. You need your room back in order, and I’m sure you don’t need me here for it.” Cullen moved to stand after gently putting her back down on the mattress, and Sylvia idly played with her fingers as she watched him.

“I will blame it all on Sera.” He smirked. Shaking his head, he moved towards the stairs.

“Oh, and Cullen? If you are seen, your men will never let you hear the end of it.” She winked. “Their Commander staying all night in the Inquisitor’s quarters? How scandalous.”

Cullen’s eyes widened in surprise, before looking out her windows to take in how high the sun was. Groaning, he rubbed his neck and sighed. “Maker’s breath. Truly, I wonder if I don’t give them enough to do sometimes.”

“Perhaps. I think you should go delegate your work and get some sleep. In fact, I’ll make that an order. You didn’t get any sleep last night, did you? Go get something to eat then go sleep. I don’t expect to see you before midday today doing anything work related.”

Smiling, Cullen bowed and left.


	27. Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia gets her room cleaned up

Solas woke with a strangled growl as the dream ended abruptly. His strange affections for the young Dalish drove him to look for her troubled dreams every time she slept. Tonight was no exception – Sylvia was yet again experiencing the night in the woods when she met her first Templars.

He always manifested in his wolf form – and from his conversations with the mysterious elf, she hasn’t noticed one strange wolf among the many in her dreams so far. And despite his offer, she did not confide her past in him.

Solas supposed it was only natural. She wouldn’t want anyone to know of her trauma. But what had happened tonight? The nightmares were harder and harder to wake her from. He had tried his best to break the hold the Anchor had on Sylvia while she slept, but to Solas’ growing frustrations his diminished power couldn’t wake her from the nightmares. All he could do was watch Sylvia relieve her painful memories over and over again.

Solas covered his mouth as howl threatened to rip out of his throat. He was too closely connected to his wolf at the moment. He resented the fact that all he could do was watch as the Templars bound her and raped her. Those Templars who weren’t worth the dirt she stepped on.

The images still vivid in his mind, Solas wondered how the dream had ended so suddenly. Did the Anchor somehow rip him away from her dreams? Was Sylvia still snarled in its depth, screaming alone? Panicked by the notion, Solas went back to dreaming, searching the nearby Fade for her troubled mind.

But he found nothing. Where was she? She couldn’t have woken up by herself. The Anchor was too powerful. Did somebody wake her? But who could have possibly disturbed the Inquisitor at this hour? Should he go check on her physically? But how would he explain his presence in her private quarters? Solas couldn’t admit his knowledge of her past.

Throughout the night, Solas searched for Sylvia desperately in the Fade without success until he was startled out of his efforts when a door to his rotunda opened up roughly.

Commander walked in, looking haggard and exhausted. The man never seemed to sleep. Trying to ignore the disruption, Solas laid back once again.

“Solas, are you awake?” The Commander’s rough voice was insistent.

Solas sighed. “Commander. Is everything alright?” Sylvia was still missing in the Fade, and frankly, he wanted the shemlen to leave him alone.

“I had a question regarding something the Inquisitor said.”

Solas immediately climbed down from his bed, facing the tall shem.

“Inquisitor once told me that she couldn’t wake herself up from her dreams due to a side effect of having the Anchor placed on herself. Is there a way for one to stop themselves from having nightmares?”

Solas considered. Commander was a practical military man completely dedicated to the Inquisition’s cause. It was unprecedented for him to come ask him about anything related to Fade and dreams unless it related to his work. Something must have happened to trigger such curiosity.

“There are potions and concoctions I can brew that could possibly stop one from having nightmares temporarily.” Solas watched as relief flooded over the man’s face.

“But if this is regarding the Inquisitor, the Anchor’s power was too much. She’s been already taking the potions to no effect.” Cullen’s face hardened with disappointment.

“There is nothing you can do for her? These nightmares seem extreme.”

Did he know about her nightmares? What they were about?

“I could perhaps insert myself into her dreams, see if I can wake her up from within.”

“No!” Cullen protested immediately, making Solas narrowed his eyes. “No that would… that would be a breach of the Inquisitor’s privacy.” Cullen tried to cover up his outburst.

The man knew. Something must have happened last night. Was it him that woke her up from the nightmares earlier? How did she fare after being woken from her nightmares of being trapped in templars’ cruel clutches by yet another templar? And Fen wasn’t around her – Solas couldn’t ask her wolf.

“Then there is nothing I can do for her.” Solas’s answering voice was too biting.

“What if…” Commander struggled with his words. “I managed to wake her up last night. She was having a bad one, and I noticed that the Anchor was blazing out. I Silenced it. It seemed to blink for a moment, but it was enough to wake her. Is there anything that could suppress the Anchor’s magic while she slept?” That stopped Solas.

If there was a possibility to help her, Solas would grab it even if it was a bag full of cats. “That is something I have not considered before, Commander. I will certainly take a look into that area.”

Nodding his thanks, the man left the rotunda to head for his office. Solas watched him leave, as his mind worked over the information. A Templar disrupting the Mark’s connection to the Veil even temporarily allowed her to wake up… But it was hours ago when Solas was ripped away from her dreams. Why didn’t the Commander come by right after? Shaking his head, Solas returned to the Fade to search for his spirit friends to consult this newfound information.

* * *

 

“Inquisitor! What happened here?” Josephine squeaked as she took in the state her room was in. Sylvia shuffled her feet. “I’m sorry Josie. I woke up, and the room was already broken. I had a bad nightmare, and my magic must have snapped.” Josephine looked terrified.

Sadly, Leliana’s sharp eyes didn’t miss Sylvia’s nervous twitches.

“Inquisitor” Leliana raised her eyebrows at Sylvia. She squirmed.

“It won’t happen again. I promise.” Sylvia mumbled, unable to look at the two.

“Inquisitor, clearly something has upset you.” Leliana swept her arm around the room, punctuating her point. “Whatever it was, your magical response was deadly. We must know what caused this, if we are to make certain this never happens again. We cannot make your servants take this risk.”

Sylvia sighed. Leliana was right – but there was no way Sylvia was going to tell them the truth. She would need to distract the two shrewd women, but with what she had no idea. Information that these two would love to sink their teeth into. Something that held far greater importance than her magical explosion ripping her room apart. Something…

“How about a deal?” She suggested, trying to ignore the icy wind blowing through the room.

“I get to keep this incident a secret – you do not ask me, and you do not try to spy on me. In return, I’ll tell you why our Commander was blushing this morning.” Sylvia winked.

Leliana paused, and shared a look with Josephine.

She smiled slyly. From the way Josephine and Leliana’s eyes were glinting mischievously, Sylvia knew she had them. “I’ll tell you _everything_.”

“We could say it was an assassination attempt.” Leliana said thoughtfully, tapping a slender finger to her chin.

“It’ll help the soldiers tighten the security around Skyhold. And make them sing praises of your skills at defeating the assassin single-handedly.” Josephine scribbled on her notebook, then looked up. Two pairs of eyes shined expectantly, akin to her wolves hunting a rabbit. Laughing at the change a prospect of juicy gossip caused in her two friends, Sylvia led them to sit by the fire. “I take it the terms of this deal are satisfactory?”

“Of course.” Josephine giggled. “Anything for good gossip. Sylvia, I want _all_ the details.”

“What was he doing here? You made him blush on purpose, didn’t you? He is adorable when he blushes.” Leliana’s lilting voice urged Sylvia, and she couldn’t wipe the silly grin off her face.

“Hush, Leliana. Let her talk.” Josie shushed the Spymaster.

Wiggling her fingers, Sylvia relished the attention the two showered her with. Creators, she’s never had friends like them to gossip with before… The feeling was strange, but comforting. The story was nothing important. In fact, it was downright frivolous. But sharing her tale in hushed whispers and watching the two giggling excitedly at their shared secret made her happier than she thought possible.

“So who knew chantry boys were such good kissers…?” She winked, blushing slightly.

“You kissed him!" Josephine crowed, and Leliana giggled. “What was he like?”

“That scar… Creators, that scar felt amazing on my lips. And he kisses so well! Dorian is going to be so jealous.” Sylvia snickered, and Leliana squealed in delight.

“Does he plan on courting you?” Josie looked hopeful.

“I don’t know… I was too busy kissing him to ask.” Sylvia grinned. “But I plan on kissing him a lot more.”


	28. Last Resort of Good Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's quest

Sylvia stormed out of the Great Hall, sick of nobles biting back (but not quite enough) ‘knife-ears’ in her presence. Josephine wielded guilt as well as Sylvia wielded her staff. After making the mess in her room, Sylvia just couldn’t deny her requests for meetings with the visiting nobles. But Creators, Sylvia would rather face the deserts again than one more fluffy nobles proposing marriage to her with thinly veiled disgust shining through those preposterous masks.

Sylvia needed to hit something. Hard. Or burn something. Or make something explode. Or kiss Cullen. Yes, kissing Cullen sounded like an excellent idea. Kissing Cullen was always excellent. She quickened her pace, her feet guiding her to the battlements.

“Inquisitor.” She whirled around, furious at whoever stopped her short of escaping the stuffy building. Fixing her glare at the elderly woman, Sylvia groaned. “Yes, Mother Giselle?” She was in no mood for this old crone.

“It is good of you to speak to me.” Sylvia grunted in response, hoping she would make it quick. As much as Sylvia appreciated the old woman’s efforts at helping people, the Mother’s religious nature irked her often.

“I have news regarding one of your… companions. The Tevinter.” Sylvia narrowed her eyes.

“I have been in contact with his family: House Pavus, out of Qarinus. The family sent a letter describing the estrangement from their son and pleading for my aid. They’ve asked to arrange a meeting. Quietly, without telling him. They fear it’s the only way he’ll come.”

“A Tevinter family, contacting a chantry Mother of the South for aid? Most curious.” Her tone was icy, and saw the Mother Giselle wince. Sylvia knew she detested her Tevinter friend. “And they wish for anonymity. Most curious indeed.”

“Since you seem to be on good terms with the young man, I’d hoped…” The woman trailed off.

“You hoped that I would lie to him, drag him to meet with his family he clearly does not wish to, and what, toss him away? Get him out of your sight? Let the family claim him?” The elderly woman sighed.

“The family will send a retainer to meet the young man at the Redcliffe tavern to take him onward. If he truly does not wish this reunion, he can always end the matter there. I pray you change your mind, Inquisitor. Perhaps their letter will persuade you.”

Glancing at the retreating figure, Sylvia read the letter quickly.

_Even just to talk. That is all we wish to do… Dorian utterly refuses to go with him, it ends there… we are at our wit’s end…_

Sighing, Sylvia folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket. Glancing wistfully at the battlements where Cullen was visible, Sylvia turned and headed up to the library to talk with her friend. This was a choice needed to be made by him.

*~*

“Ah love. You’re looking particularly prone to snarling today. Bad day?” Dorian looked up from his book, smirking. Sylvia dropped into the chair opposing him, grunting. “Five Orlesian nobles proposed to me this morning. Three of them accidentally said ‘knife-ear’, and other two couldn’t wait to wash their hands after touching me.” Dorian laughed.

“Can you imagine how many more would come asking for your hand if you were a human noble?” Sylvia couldn’t help how her body shuddered in horror.

“Moving on from that nightmarish notion. Dorian, there’s a letter you need to see.”

“A letter? Is it a naughty letter? A humorous proposal from some Antivan dowager?” Dorian’s eyebrows waggled.

Snorting, Sylvia pulled the heavy parchment out. “You should see some of those ridiculous marriage proposal letters. But no, not quite. This particular letter is from your father.”

Suddenly, all playful smile lost its grip on Dorian’s handsome features. “From my father.” He echoed. Putting down the book he was holding, Dorian motions for the letter. “I see. And what does Magister Halward want, pray tell?”

Wordlessly, Sylvia passes him the letter. And watches her friend get more and more agitated as he works through the vellum. Nightmare had called out to Dorian – mistook you for your father, it said – there was no way this was easy for him. When he was done, Dorian stood up and paced.

“I know my son.” His angry voice repeated from the letter. “What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble. This is so typical.” Sylvia let him rattle on. He clearly needed to let out the bent up frustrations.

“I’m willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.” He shook the letter.

“That would be exceptionally hard to do while I stood there.” Sylvia tried to sound nonchalant. “He expects me to travel with Mother Giselle, although Maker knows why he’d think I would.” She shrugged, indicating her own confusions.

“Let’s go. Let’s meet this so-called ‘family retainer’. If it’s a trap, we escape and kill everyone. You’re good at that. If it’s not, I send the man back to my father with the message that he can stick his alarm in his ‘wit’s end’.” Picking up his staff, Dorian breezed past her. Sylvia followed closely behind, wondering at the hostility her friend felt towards his own family.

*~*

Entering the tavern, Sylvia immediately placed her hand on her dagger hilt, another on her staff. It was empty. A trap. Dorian followed her in. “Uh – oh. Nobody’s here. This doesn’t bode well.” Scanning the empty tavern for traps, Sylvia pushed forward cautiously.

“Dorian.” Their faces whipped towards the voice, Sylvia ready to attack. But only one man stood by the doorway. A man who looked remarkably similar to Dorian.

“Father.” The distaste in her friend’s voice was all too clear. Sylvia waited for a beat before relaxing her stance.

“So the whole story about the ‘family retainer’ was just… what? A smoke screen?” Dorian demanded angrily.

“Then you were told.” The man walked closer. “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.”

“Of course not. Magister Pavus couldn’t come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor. What would people think?” Dorian’s venomous voice sounded strange to her ears.

“What is ‘this’ exactly, father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?” He spat out the last word.

The man sighed, as if he was handling a stubborn child. “This is how it has always been.” Perhaps that was all there was, a rebellious son chafing at his nobility. But considering the Nightmare’s torments and the extent of Dorian’s hatred, Sylvia was willing to be there was more to it.

“Considering you lied to get him here, Dorian has every right to be furious.” And Sylvia will always be on Dorian’s side, as he was on hers.

“You don’t know the half of it! But maybe you should.” Dorian turned to face her, his eyes alight with anger.

“Dorian, there’s no need…” Magister began, and Dorian quickly cut him off.

“I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves.”

So? “I’ll need you to explain that.”

“Did I stutter? Men, and the company thereof. As in sex. Surely you’ve heard of it.”

Sylvia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “This is not exactly news, Dorian. I meant why your father disapproves.”

“I’m never what my father wanted. Trying to live up to an impossible standard. Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect age, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader. It means every perceived flaw – every aberration – is deviant and shameful. It must be hidden.”

Silence stretched out as Sylvia finally understood. “You are in no way an aberration, Dorian.” Sylvia growled, throwing a glare at the man. “You are a glorious mage, my perfect friend.”

“Dorian, please. If you’ll only listen to me.” The Tevinter sounded strangled. Sylvia bared her teeth at the men. She would not let him treat Dorian like a shameful thing to hide away. Not while she was breathing.

“Why? So you can spout more convenient lies? _He_ taught me to hate blood magic. ‘The resort of the weak mind.’ Those were _his_ words. But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to _change_ me!”

Sylvia’s mouth fell open in shock.

“I only wanted what was best for you!” Tevinter protested. Fucking. Tevinter. This man was the very picture of the evil Tevinters Dalish hated.

“You wanted the best for _you_! For your _fucking_ legacy! Anything for that!” Dorian screamed, then crumpled over the bar. Sylvia cautiously went over to him. She saw the feelings she once felt five years ago flit across her friend’s face. The hurt she felt at her clan’s betrayal. The anger that drowned out all else. The anger that pushed her through years of loneliness and pain, until she met her friends. Friends she had hoped to protect. Friends like him.

“Don’t leave it like this, Dorian. As much a hateful bastard your father is, you will never forgive yourself.” Dorian looked up to her with disbelief in his eyes. She met the gaze squarely. “Trust me. I know.” After a moment, Dorian turned back to his father.

“Tell me why you came.” So I can go home – Sylvia heard the unsaid words. Her heart seemed to ache for her suffering friend.

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition…” The man began. Sylvia bristled.

“You didn’t! I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do. Once I had a father who would have known that.” Suddenly looking bone weary, Dorian turned away to head for the door.

“Once I had a son who trusted me. A trust I betrayed. I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me.” Thank Mythal, that was one thing the Tevinter has said this entire evening that wouldn’t make Dorian sad. Dorian’s questioning eyes slid over to hers, and she nodded encouragingly. Knowing that they would need the space, she quietly left the tavern.

*~*

Dorian was quiet for the few days’ ride on their way back to the Skyhold. She didn’t push him – Dorian needed the space. But his uncharacteristic silence worried their companions. It wasn’t until they were back in the library that Dorian finally decided to talk.

“He says we’re alike. Too much pride. Once I would have been overjoyed to hear him say that. Now I’m not certain.” He looked out of his window. “I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“Are you alright?” That was the most important thing after all. “No, not really.”

He finally turned around to face her. “Thank you for bringing me out there. It wasn’t what I expected, but… it’s something. Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.” He attempted a weak smile.

“You led me on, Dorian.” Sylvia tried to go for a light teasing tone. “Ah, the flirting.” His face fell again.

“You’re a remarkable woman, Sylvia. I mean that in the best way. In another life…” He shook his head. “I meant no offense. I’ll desist, if you prefer.” She hadn’t expected such a heartfelt apology.

“Desist? Creators, Dorian. Don’t you _dare_.” At that, he finally laughed. “I stand so instructed. At any rate, time to drink myself into a stupor. It’s been that sort of day. Join me, will you?”

She smiled. “Of course. Friendship makes us do stupid things, don’t they? I have few Inquisition matters to attend to, but after that I’m all yours. Wait for me? I’ll meet you by Varric’s table.” He nodded, and Sylvia made her way up to Leliana’s perch, hoping the Spymaster wouldn’t have anything urgent.

After Leliana made her standard reports – nothing urgent as she’d hoped – Sylvia made her way to the Great Hall to find Dorian. Suddenly, angry voices drifted to her pointy ears.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing!” Was that… Mother Giselle? Sylvia’s never heard her raise her voice.

“I’m being clucked at by a hen, evidently.” Dorian’s voice was tense, and Sylvia started to run down the stairs.

“Don’t play the fool with me, young man!” What in Fen’Harel’s name was going on?

“If I wanted to play the fool, I could be rather more convincing, I assure you.” Dorians’ scathing tone made her run faster, pelting through Solas’s rotunda.

“Your glib tongue does you no credit.”

“You’d be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, your reverence.” Sylvia finally came into the view of the two arguing.

“Oh, I…” Mother Giselle looked startled at Sylvia’s rushed appearance.

“What’s going on here?” She had just managed to comfort Dorian barely few minutes ago!

“It seems the revered Mother is concerned about my ‘undue influence’ over you.” Sylvia’s temper flared up once again at that.

“It _is_ just concern. Your worship, you must know how this looks.” Fucking. Chantry.

“You might need to spell it out, my dear.” Dorian egged her on.

“This man is of Tevinter. His presence at your side, the rumors alone…”

“Mother Giselle.” Her icy voice cut the woman off sharply. “What do you see when you look at me?”

The woman looked confused. “Your… Worship?”

“I said, what do you see when you look at me?” Sylvia raised her voice, willing everyone around to hear. “I… I am not sure as to…” The woman faltered.

“Allow me to speak in your stead then. You see a pointy pair of ears. You see the _vallaslin_ of my people inked on my face, the mark of savages as you call them. You see a knife-ear.” She spat the word out, and Mother flinched. Sylvia was sure every noble in the Great Hall could hear her. Many looked away guiltily, unable to meet her gaze.

Sylvia spoke loudly, speaking to the entire roomful of fucking nobles as well as the concerned Mother. “I am a Dalish, and I am proud to call myself one. The entirety of Thedas knows of my elven blood, and how proud I am of it.” Sylvia stabbed her long finger towards Dorian.

“He himself is as proud of his origin as I am, is he not Mother Giselle? Master Dorian Pavus has never denied his Tevinter heritage.” Mother Giselle nodded.

“He proudly proclaims his blood, knowing that as a Dalish I have more cause than any, including the chantry, to hate him for his lineage. He admitted to my face that he’s owned slaves. Elven slaves. Tell me Mother, do I not have a right to hate him?” Sylvia saw the people gathering around, discreetly listening in. “His people’s brought mine to the brink of extinction. His people’s destroyed mine’s legacy, immortality, culture, history, even our language. Mother Giselle, do you agree that I have a right to hate him?”

She remained mute, her eyes wide. Dorian looked the same, his face worried. Her voice rang out clearly in the huge Hall – addressing everyone. If the rumors were a cause for concern as Mother Giselle said, Sylvia would end it here and now.

“He is a Tevinter mage! Everybody in Skyhold should know so! He does not hide it. And I am Dalish, First to my clan! I have every right, more so than anybody here to denounce, belittle, and hate him. Does anybody challenge my right?” The entire Hall remained silent as her shouts rang off the walls. Dorian flinched slightly.

“Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous is a human Tevinter mage that I, Sylvia Lavellan First to clan Lavellan of Free Marches, proudly claim as one of my most cherished and trusted friend. He is a charming, kind-hearted, unbiased man I have had the pleasure of meeting through the Creators’ grace.”

Stepping between her shocked friend and the Revered Mother, Sylvia moved to end the discussion.

“You believe me to be your Andraste’s Herald. And yet you judge and question my companions, who have stood by my side steadfastly against Corypheus. From this point onward, any slander, any unbecoming rumor regarding Dorian will be considered as a direct insult against me. _Do I make myself clear?_ ”

The silence stretched out, as everyone’s stunned mind took in her declaration.

Mother Giselle seemed at a loss for words. “I believe my friend is owed an apology, Mother.” Her tone brooked no arguments.

“I… see. I humbly beg forgiveness of you both.” The woman bowed and retreated quickly, heading for the gardens. Assuming the scene to be over, the servants and nobles drifted away, chattering excitedly. By the end of the day, everyone at Skyhold would know of her small announcement. Sylvia smiled, satisfied.

“Well, that’s something.” Dorian said wryly. Sylvia shrugged. “She didn’t get to you, did she?”

“It’ll take far more than few thinly veiled accusations to get me riled up. Yours is the good opinion I care about. Not hers.” Sylvia toyed with a smile on her lips.

“I just announced my opinions of you to the entire Thedas. Hope I was clear enough about it.”

“Impeccably, my love. Quite the impression, really.” Sylvia laughed at that. “Perhaps it’s odd to say, but… I think of you as a friend as well, love. I have precious few friends. I didn’t think to find one here.”

Surprised, Sylvia looked at Dorian. “What brought this on?” Ignoring her, Dorian continued on. “Don’t speak. I detest confessions, and I’d like to get this over with. Allow me to say I’ll stand beside you – against Corypheus, my countrymen, or spurious rumor – so long as you’ll have me.”

Sylvia blinked, fighting hard to keep her sudden tears from falling. This – this was her true lethallin. Not her clan mates that feared her, but a shemlen Tevinter that trusted her. Creators had a strange sense of humor. But she supposed she never had been a typical Dalish elf. But never would she have guessed that she would find a lethallin in this strange mess. Smiling at him warmly, Sylvia pulled him into a tight hug before releasing him.

“Come on, Dorian. The world can wait a while to be saved. We need to go get you drunk!”


	29. Guilty Pleasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvia discusses her day with Cullen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very, VERY slightly NSFW

“Wolf!” Varric’s shout made her skid to a stop. “You’re in an awful rush. Off to see the Commander?” Sylvia couldn’t help the blush painting her cheeks, confirming the dwarf’s words.

“What do you want, Varric? I’m _busy_.” It has been days since she got to see Cullen. Many Fade Rifts required her Mark, taking her on multiple expeditions away from Skyhold. Away from his charming smirks.

“If you remember,” Varric waved something at her, looking incredibly smug. A book. “I finished the gift for the Seeker.”

Her lips twitched into a fierce grin. “Is that so? Shall we?”

Varric grinned back. “Lead on, Wolfie.”

*~*

“So, we found Cassandra breaking the practicing dummies as usual.” Sylvia talked, as Cullen gently worked his hand through her hair, combing the knots out. They were sitting on her couch in her quarters, with her back facing him. She enjoyed how his hands felt in her hair, and happily let him play with it. Fire burning in her hearth kept them warm, and cast orange glow around the room.

“She started growling at Varric, but that just made him even smugger, you know? He then proceeded to show her the ‘Swords and Shields’ latest issue he wrote.”

“‘Swords and Shields’? Wasn’t that the romance series Varric wrote back in Kirkwall?” Cullen’s voice rumbled behind her, and she relaxed even further. His voice was always soothing.

“You know about it? It’s smutty literature! Cassandra was so red in the face, it was adorable.” She giggled.

“I knew the models Varric used for that book, actually.” Cullen talked quietly, his voice clearly amused. She slightly turned her head to look at him with the corner of her eyes.

“Really? Who?”

“Guard Captain Aveline in Kirkwall, and her husband guardsman Donnic. I worked with them for a while. Aveline was Hawke’s family friend. She’s just like Cassandra.”

“Creators, and I thought this couldn’t get any weirder. Well, Cassandra just glared at me and said ‘this is your doing’ all grim and scowling. And I couldn’t help it! I said ‘oh yes, do you really think I’d miss this?’”

“Maker, how are you still alive?”

“Varric saved me. He just shrugged and said ‘well, if you’re not interested, you’re not interested’ then started to walk away, but Cassandra just snatched the book out of his hand! She eventually thanked both me and Varric.”

Cullen laughed, and Sylvia laughed along with him.

“I wish I could have seen that.” Cullen chuckled.

“I considered grabbing you for the show… but you were busy. But oh, it was so worth it. The look on her face…” Sylvia giggled. “Priceless.”

His hands finally left her hair, having worked out all the knots and tangles in it. She felt his warm breath as he pressed light kisses against her dark hair, and his hands gently wrapped around her stomach. She leaned back, sighing happily. Sylvia had been planning on cutting her hair again – she hated it when it was long since it reminded her of Templars tugging on it. But with Cullen’s fingers gently combing through her locks, Sylvia wondered if she should grow it again. He seemed to enjoy touching her hair after all.

“Smutty literature and Cassandra. Really? I can’t imagine it.” He mumbled into her hair.

“Neither could I until I saw her. She was so engrossed with it, it was like anything outside of the book didn’t exist anymore. Cassandra apparently tried to get Dorian to read some of it too.”

“Glad she didn’t force it on me.” His lips traveled a little lower, to the nape of her neck. She cocked her head to the side to give him easier access. She could feel the scar on his lips – rough against her sensitized skin, but so deliciously warm.

“You sure? Smutty literature isn’t your regular reading material?” She teased him lightly. “Or perhaps you read something more… daring than smutty?”

“Maker’s breath!” Sylvia giggled as Cullen blushed furiously – she could feel the heat against her neck as he flushed.

“I… I don’t…” He fumbled for words, and Sylvia decided to take mercy on him.

“I’m just teasing, Cullen. I know you only read trebuchet related stuff. Varric’s right – you need a hobby. All this overworking can’t be good for you. You should try reading ‘Swords and Shields’. Who knows? You may even like it.”

“I heard about it from Hawke. Quoted it, in fact. There’s no way I’m subjecting myself to that. I would rather die from overworking.”

“Truly? It’s that bad?”

“On par with Josephine’s tea parties.” Cullen’s grumble tickled her neck, and she squirmed.

“Let’s see… I believe it went something along the lines of ‘her breasts strained against the leather jerkin like two wild stallions corralled against their will. She pounced – the smooth moves of a jungle cat – and locked her thighs around Donnic’s waist.’”

Sylvia laughed hysterically as Cullen quoted, until she could no longer breathe. She gasped painfully for air even as Cullen chuckled happily behind her.

“By the Creators, that’s ridiculous! You actually memorized it?”

“It was bad… bad enough for me to remember. I thought my ears would never be clean again when Hawke quoted it.” He laughed, and she shook her head.

“Well, I like my commanding officer alive. But you really should find yourself something to do other than work. I mean, look at me. I’m saving the world – but I always find time to torment my closest friends. Sera’s full of delightful ideas. Just the other day, we managed to steal Josie’s smalls.”

Cullen coughed behind her, and Sylvia smiled. “We plan to do something special with it. Leliana’s in on it too.”

“Maker’s breath. I don’t want to know. Leave me out of it.”

“The point is, you need to find something to do for fun!” Sylvia turned to look at him, her hands wrapping around his neck. She felt the lyrium humming softly in his blood, and kissed his lips gently. “I don’t want you overworked, Cullen. I feel like a horrible boss for working you so hard.”

“I found you.” Cullen kept his eyes locked on hers, and it was her turn to blush. What was she supposed to say to that?

His lips gently pried hers open, saving her from having to answer. She let him in, enjoying the feeling of his stubble against her skin as he kissed her deeply. But it was cut off abruptly when her ears caught a slight shuffling noise.

Groaning, she opened her eyes to find a flustered servant standing by her stairs. The poor woman seemed mortified to have walked in on them.

“Creators, what is it?” She snapped, though Sylvia knew she was being unfair. But Sylvia so rarely got a chance to spend time alone with Cullen, she couldn’t help the annoyance she felt at being interrupted.

“Your… your worship. I apologize…” Sylvia sighed as the shem stuttered.

“Why are you here?” She repeated herself, reluctantly moving out of Cullen’s warm embrace.

“Lady ambassador asked this to be brought to you immediately.” The woman held something out for her, and curious, Sylvia picked up the small tray. Immediately, the servant fled down the stairs.

“What is it?” Cullen looked at her as she picked up the candle on the tray.

“It’s a candle. I don’t understand, why would she need to send it at this hour?” Sylvia noticed a small parchment on the tray as well. Quickly, she read the note written in Josie’s perfect hand.

_Sylvia_

_This candle is made of special herbs that will allow one to relax better, and to heighten the intimate experience._

_Josephine_

Sylvia flung the note into the fire, blushing furiously. By the Dread Wolf, did Josie seriously send her an _aphrodisiac?_ The ambassador must have found out about her missing smalls. She could almost see the mischievous glint in her cunning eyes.

“Sylvia? What’s wrong?” Cullen moved to stand up, and Sylvia hastily shook her head.

“Nothing. Josie’s idea of stupid prank. She must’ve found out about us stealing her smalls.” She moved to put the innocent-looking candle on her table, and returned to Cullen. He arched his eyebrows at her.

“A candle is a prank?”

“mhmmm…” Sylvia sat back down on the couch, embracing him once more.

“The Commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste. That will have people talking.” Sylvia vaguely gestured towards where the servant was standing, trying to distract him. At that, Cullen sighed and rubbed his neck.

“You wouldn’t _believe_ how quickly gossip spreads through the barracks.”

Worried, she separated herself slightly to look at him. “Does it bother you?”

But Cullen just pulled her back, kissing her lightly on her lips. “I would rather my – our – private affairs remain that way.” He smirked. “But if there were nothing here for people to talk about, I would regret it more.”

She giggled happily as his lips traveled yet again to her neck. Her giggles soon turned into pleased humming as his scarred lips traveled up to her hair, then to her ears. Sylvia tilted her head for him as he nibbled and licked slowly until he reached the tip of her pointy ear.

They’ve kissed before – in fact, Sylvia made an effort to kiss him as much as possible during their private time together. But all that warmth and flutters she felt in her stomach as they kissed playfully couldn’t have prepared for what she felt when his tongue met her ears.

Unfamiliar warmth pooled between her legs as her body flushed with desire for him. Her entire body was aflame with pure want, no _need_ , for the golden eyed man gently nibbling on her ear. Unbidden, a wanton moan dragged itself from her throat.

His lips immediately left her heated skin, allowing Sylvia to realize just how lewd she sounded.

Creators, she didn’t mean to moan like that. Blushing crimson, Sylvia tucked her legs beneath her and pulled away slightly, avoiding his searching eyes.

“Maker, I’m sorry. Sylvia… I didn’t know…” Cullen somehow looked worried and apologetic at the same time, his brows furrowed in concern. His arm was still around her, but he didn’t hold her tight. Sylvia knew Cullen held her loosely in case she felt the need to pull away, to stop him. She never did stop him though.

Sylvia tried to fight the fear and guilt overwhelming her. There was absolutely no reason whatsoever why he needed to apologize, was there? And she didn’t do anything wrong either. _It wasn’t wrong to feel good._

After a moment, Sylvia felt the panic subsiding. Really, the entire experience was so different from her… incident that she didn’t even feel the ghosting hands of the Templars lingering on her body. The bloody embarrassment on the other hand… well, if the scalding heat she felt on her face was anything to judge by, Sylvia was drowning in it.

“Don’t apologize.” Sylvia tried to keep her voice steady, even as she wanted to burrow under the couch to hide her crimson face. “I just didn’t expect that to feel so… _pleasant_.”

Creators, she couldn’t do it. Give her a staff and point her at a pride demon, no problem. But sitting here, finding out what got her off? She was going to combust right then and there. Sylvia buried her face in his chest, hoping that would help her to cool off before she set herself on fire.

“Mythal help me, I’m embarrassed!” Sylvia mumbled into his soft cotton shirt. “You’d think I’d have thicker skin than this.”

Cullen opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “But don’t say sorry. You don’t get to say sorry for making me feel good. Completely your fault if I burst into flames though.”

Cullen’s face finally relaxed, and he chuckled in his quiet, steady way as his arms tightened around her. “Yes, well… then I’m not sorry. I’m actually rather glad I made this little discovery tonight.” He brushed his lips along her ears again, and she shivered as a new wave of pleasure tingled over her. Sylvia couldn’t help the soft moan she let out, still sounding oh so totally erotic.

“I’m a very happy man, with a very interesting find.”

“You’re pushing it, Cullen.” She tried to sound stern, she really did. But his tongue made her sound too breathy.

“I wonder if it’s an elf thing.” He nuzzled her hair. “I don’t think humans are this sensitive around their ears.”

“I don’t know. I never talked about such things with anyone.” Sylvia struggled to remember how to speak through the pleasant buzzing settling around her head. She somewhat succeeded. “Does it ever bother you that I’m Dalish?” The thought slipped past her mouth while her mind was busy trying to keep up with the onslaught of unfamiliar sensations.

Stupid, stupid, idiotic little wolf! Of all things to say… Sylvia cringed inwardly as Cullen paused.

“I hadn’t considered… elves weren’t treated differently in the Circles I served. I didn’t think what it might mean to you…” He trailed off, and Sylvia silently finished his thought. He was too busy considering what I thought about him being an ex-templar, to worry about me being an elf and him being a human.

“I hope that doesn’t – I mean, _does_ it… bother you?” Cullen seemed to hold his breath as he waited for her answer.

 _Did_ it bother her? Cullen was in no way similar to an elf. He was tall, muscular even by human standards. No, even by Templar standards. His ears were round, and there was lyrium flowing in his blood. There was no _vallaslin_ on his face. Her eyes met his amber ones, full of kindness and warmth, and she knew. She knew it didn’t matter. Whatever he was, at the bottom of it, he was Cullen, and that was more than what she deserved, more that whatever she could have hoped for.

“No – if you care for me, that’s all that matters.” The words were out before she could consider them, but deep inside Sylvia knew it was right. Perhaps a year ago she would have minded. Hell, before Haven? She’d have burned him to death without a thought. But he’d changed her, for the better as they argued and fought together. The best part? He didn’t even try to change her. Didn’t even know he had such an effect on her. He was just there when she needed him, steady and strong.

Feeling a little bold, she tugged at his hand until he let her have it. Trying to ignore the nervous flutters in her gut, Sylvia gently pulled his hand up to her breasts, and left it there. His surprised eyes met hers, and she saw him searching for a sign of uncertainty on her part. She smiled shyly, but gently squeezed his hand over her breast, then hummed at the sensation, encouraging him.

Slowly, Cullen started to rub and squeeze her breasts with his big hands, repeating the motion over and over again. His eyes were attentive, focused on every sharp breath she took, every contented sigh she let out. After a moment or two, Sylvia relaxed and began to enjoy his ministrations.

Her body slowly arched, the warmth between her legs growing hotter, her breasts feeling heavier. She pressed herself into him further, needing to feel him against her. At the moment, she hated the clothes they wore, the fabric barricading her skin from his.

“I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot. It just slipped out. I’m sorry.” Sylvia kissed his sharp nose, smiling. If she didn’t distract herself from the way his fingers were rubbing at her hardening nipples, she was going to end up devouring him.

“I’m not very good at this, am I?” He rubbed his nose against hers. “If I seem unsure, it’s because it’s been a long time since I’ve wanted _anyone_ in my life. I wasn’t expecting to find that here. Or you.”

“For someone who claims to have little experience in such matters, you seem to know so much about how to make me ache for you.” Sylvia wanted to make him blush again. She wasn’t so lucky.

“It’s all about finding your opponent’s weak points quickly.” He smirked, the scar turning his crooked smile devilishly charming. Then his mouth was back on her ears, his hands rubbing her stiff nipples through her clothes, making her mewl hopelessly.

“And I intend to find a few more tonight.”


	30. Perseverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's Perseverance quest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long delay! I have been having serious writer's block with this story.
> 
> For those of you who are curious, I have posted a picture of Sylvia Lavellan on my tumblr! The link is below :)
> 
> http://robotichawk.tumblr.com/Sylvia
> 
> Oh, and warnings: NSFW!

Skipping along the battlements with her wolf Fen, Sylvia smiled slightly at herself.  Between the duties as the Inquisitor, and Cullen as her Commander, it was difficult to find the time to spend together. Her duties often sent her away from the Skyhold, and Cullen’s administrative work often put him inside these sturdy walls. So Sylvia took every chance possible to make her path cross his whenever possible, such as now.

Bull had requested her to do a test run with the Qunari to hit the red lyrium shipment in the Storm Coast. Just her Bull, herself, the Chargers, and maybe a little backup, no army. Sylvia saw no problem with it – the alliance with the Qunari would be a huge asset for the Inquisition. But she wanted her Commander’s read on it. Void take her if she should consider a military alliance with the Qunari without his take on the position. That her Commander happen to be Cullen just made her a very happy Inquisitor, with a perfectly legitimate excuse to see him.

Sylvia pushed against the wooden door, putting her foot in his office when something crashed into her right temple. Thick blood poured down over her eyes, obscuring her vision quickly, even before the pain began to register. Crying out against the unexpected attack, Sylvia threw up her barrier on reflex. Fen growled behind her as he caught the metallic scent of blood wafting around her.

“Maker’s breath, Sylvia!” She heard Cullen’s strangled voice, and blindly waved in the general direction, attempting to indicate she was alright before she started to assess the damage. Sylvia winced as her fingers pressed the tender spots – skull bruised – and her fingers came away sticky with wet blood. The head wounds always bled a lot.

“I did not hear you enter! Forgive me, I...” Wiping the blood away from her eyes, Sylvia looked up just in time to see Cullen collapse against his desk.

“Cullen!” Sylvia raced forward, trying to hold him up as he shuddered, shaking like a leaf. Her hand quickly reached up to his forehead, feeling for his temperature. Sticky blood trailed after her touch on his flushed skin. Blood once again covered her eyes, blurring her vision.

“Maker, what have I done? Sylvia, your head…” Cullen gasped out, between each tremors shaking his body. “I did not hear you enter. Maker, I didn’t hear you. I hurt you. I hurt you.”

His anguished whispers washed over her, tickling her senses.

“Cullen, stop! You’re burning up. Mythal help me, what were you thinking? You should have gone to the healers long before now!” Sylvia tried to keep him up, she did, but Cullen was too heavy. He slumped against his table, falling to the ground. His armor clattered against the stone floor.

“I hurt you. Maker, I didn’t mean to hurt you Sylvia. I didn’t hear…” Cullen repeated, over and over again.

“Cullen! Of course you didn’t hear me, I’m Dalish! Talk to me, what’s wrong? Is it the lyrium?” But Cullen’s eyes were glassy, and he did not hear her voice. Endlessly repeating those few words, his hand ghosted over her wound, but otherwise he did not stir.

Sylvia didn’t know how to heal him. All she knew how to heal were broken bones and stab wounds. She didn’t know how to cool the fever burning his skin, or to calm his strained body.

Swallowing her frustrations, she once again wiped the blood away from her brows, and looked to her wolf.

“Fen, go get Cassandra right now.” The grey wolf bounded away instantly, and Sylvia looked back over at Cullen. He was still mumbling dark words, shaking and burning. Sylvia stood up, wiping away the constant flow of blood.

“Commander Cullen!” Sylvia snapped as hard as she could, steeling her voice. Her icy voice seemed to shake him out of his shell for a moment, his confused eyes settling on her once again.

“You are relieved of duty until further notice. Go take your armor off and await further instructions.”

 Cullen took in a sharp breath, stunned for a moment. Then, his beautiful eyes hardened, and his jaw clenched tight. He stood up slowly, stiffly, and bowed.

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

Sylvia tried not to flinch at her title, at his defeated voice. She dreaded to see blame and anger in his eyes, but she only found sadness and guilt lurking there. And then, he was climbing the ladder in his office, moving out of her sight. Sylvia stood still for a while, frozen, until Cassandra walked in with Fen.

“Inquisitor, your wolf here has been- Maker, what’s happened to your head?!”

The Seeker rushed to her side, pushing the stray strands of hair out of the wound. She peered at it carefully, inspecting the extent of the damage.

“Nothing.” Sylvia brought her hand up to her temple, glowing with the aqua green healing magic. She lightly covered the bleeding wound, until the torn skin knitted back together, staunching the never-ending flow of blood. She used the spilled lyrium on the floor to power the spell, knowing she needed to get rid of it for Cullen.

“Cassandra, has Commander mentioned anything about his… condition to you lately?”

Seeker furrowed her brows, looking concerned, though she didn’t take her eyes off of Sylvia’s wound as she watched her magic work.

“He did. He wanted me to recommend a replacement for him. I refused. It’s not necessary.”

Sylvia let out a breath she’d been holding. “You’re certain?”

“I am. He’s come so far, and it would only destroy him. He can break the hold lyrium has over him, I have no doubt.”

Sylvia nodded slowly. Cassandra would be able to evaluate the dangers accurately, with her being a Seeker and all.

“Can you take over his duties for today and tomorrow? He’s been overworked for far too long. He needs a break.”

“Just until tomorrow?” Cassandra asked, her eyes flitting upwards as they heard something crashing loudly from the floor above.

“Just till tomorrow.” Sylvia repeated firmly. “I doubt our army would survive without him for long.”

She finally removed her hand from the wound, after tapping it experimentally. Still a little tender, but it was healed flawlessly. She looked to Cassandra for confirmation, and the woman nodded as well, approving.

“And if anybody comes looking for either of us, we are not here.”

“You want me to lie?”

“Yup.”

“Bah. Fine.” Grumbling, Cassandra walked over to Cullen’s desk, quickly rearranging the reports and reading through the topmost ones. Sending her Fen away, Sylvia took a deep breath, and climbed up the ladder.

She peeked into his room, with just her head visible over the floor. She saw Cullen sitting on the bed, his face buried in his hands. His armor was thrown across the room, most likely the source of the crash earlier. Gathering her courage, she stepped fully into his quarters.

“Ma vhenan.” She called to him softly. He snapped his head up at the sound.

“Sylvia, Maker, so much blood…” He rasped, his amber gaze sweeping over her drenched clothes. She walked over to his bed, shushing him.

“It’s nothing. Look, I’m all healed. Not a trace remains.” She tried to smile, but Cullen shook his head.

“I’ve hurt you. Maker, to think I’ve made you _bleed!_ You’re right to relieve me of duty. Maker, I’m so sorry. I-”

“You’re not.” She cut him off, grasping his hands with hers. “Cassandra’s taking over for you so you can get some rest for today and tomorrow, but you’re still the Commander.”

“Sylvia, I can’t…”

“Yes you can. I don’t want to hear it. You can do it, and you will.”

“I should be taking it. I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the chantry!” He whispered, nearly sobbing out his pain. “ _I should be taking it!_ ”

“Cullen, ma’arlath.” Sylvia kissed him softly on his head, then his nose. “What do _you_ want? Do you want to take the lyrium?”

“I… no. I want nothing to do with that life.” Cullen gasped painfully. “But these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse… if I, if I cannot endure this…”

“Mala suledin nadas. For revas. Suledin, ara revas.” Sylvia spoke, willing her voice to stay strong. He looked into her eyes for a long moment. “You must endure, emma lath. For your freedom. You can do this. I believe you shall reach revasan.”

He sighed, heaving out a heavy breath, then nodded. His eyes were shining once again with determination, and recognizing the look, she smiled.

“You do realize I’ve no idea half the things you just said, right?” Cullen chuckled lightly as he took in her smile.

“One day, I may even tell you.” Sylvia laughed. Cullen had asked her repeatedly of the meanings of the endearments she had slipped into habit of calling him. So far, she’d been too shy to tell the truth, teasing him lightly to avoid the topic entirely. One day, she may indeed tell him. One day, she may even call him her lath, her _love_ in his own tongue, and hope he will respond the same.

“Now that that’s all taken care of,” she started, dragging her thoughts away before it could go tumbling down that road. It was far too much to hope for, surely. And Cullen needed to be distracted from his withdrawals. “Shall we get on with this little time off your boss gave you?”

“You _are_ my boss.” He rumbled, as she pulled her hand out of his.

“All the more reason to listen to me.” She smiled, climbing onto his bed next to him. He twisted slightly to watch, wincing as his eyes roamed over her, taking in the dried blood crusted all over her shirt.

“Sylvia…” he whispered, his hand stroking her healed temple. She didn’t let him finish however, pulling her bloody shirt off in one fluid motion and tossing it on the floor. He didn’t need a constant reminder of his mistake. Before she could lose her nerve, Sylvia snapped her fingers, calling forth a small flame to engulf the fabric. Within a moment, only a small pile of ashes remained where the shirt had been.

“Maker, Sylvia! What-” Cullen sputtered, raising his hand to cover his eyes somewhat, all the while turning away from her naked torso. Giggling, Sylvia dove under his bed covers.

“What are you doing?” He kept his eyes trained on the armor stand, blushing furiously.

“I got my shirt a little dirty, ma vhenan.” She giggled, dragging his bed sheet up to her shoulders and wrapping herself. “And now I got rid of it. Josie can’t give me grief about getting it dirty again. It never happened.”

He took in a sharp breath as she snuggled up against him, swathed in his bed sheets.

“Thank you.” He murmured softly, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her softly on her hair, as only her head was visible over the sheets she covered herself with, then trailed his lips along her pointed ears, drawing a moan from her. He was still too warm to the touch, feverish.

“Now that your shirt is gone, what will you do when you have to get off my bed?” He whispered.

“This is a nice bed. I don’t think I’ll want to get off of it anytime soon.” She hummed.

“Your bed is nicer.” He chuckled. He knew she’d spent hours in Val Royeaux to acquire her bed.

“What can I say? I’ve never known the luxury of a bed before. Is it so wrong to indulge while I can?”

That gave him a pause. He stopped his gentle ministrations on her ear, looking down at her.

“Never known?”

“Oh.” She squirmed, under his incredulous gaze. “We Dalish don’t use beds. We are nomads, so we can’t really have one. The one I woke up in, back in Haven was the first one I’ve ever been in.”

“Maker, of course!” He looked a little sheepish. “I’m sorry. That was a foolish question.”

“Hmm. It’s not something you think about usually. I understand. I’d rather have you think about trebuchets and troop movements and whatnot. Saves more lives.”

“So I take it you enjoy the new found comforts?”

“Yes!” Sylvia exclaimed. “Since I’ve left the forests, I’ve had so many strange dealings with shems. How do you stand to be within these buildings all this time? It’s suffocating! Walls, ceilings, floors, no room for breeze, no trees, no songbirds.”

“I’ve a hole in the roof, if that helps.” Cullen offered when she took a breath to continue her tirade.

“I noticed that. Why didn’t you get that fixed? You’ll catch a deadly cold in this mountain. And the clothes! So confining, constricting. Ridiculous. Have you seen the vile things Josie stuffed me into for those meetings with the nobles? I am dreading to even think about what she’s planning for that Orlesian Ball. Oh what I wouldn’t give to get my hands on some Dalish attires. But the bed! Oh, the beds are wonderful. So soft, and warm, and comforting. I never want to leave my bed in the morning.”

Laughing, Cullen pulled her tighter into himself, sheets and all. They fell backwards onto the bed, with his legs still hanging over the edge, and her bundled up over his chest.

“It’s strange, to think to never use a bed…” he mused, stroking her braided hair.

“We have bedrolls. It’s not like we just sleep on the forest floor. Though it is warmer in the Free Marches, and we could. But _mattresses!_ ” Sylvia sighed dreamily, feeling the bed beneath her.

“Ir abelas, ma lethallins. But the beds more than makes up for giving up my clan.” She joked, rubbing her face against the soft fabric of his undershirt.

“So, without beds… do, um, Dalish just… you know? Maker help me. In bedrolls?” Sylvia blinked as Cullen blushed furiously, the words getting tangled up dreadfully in his mouth.

“Maker, that was dreadful.” He mumbled, and she couldn’t help the twitch of a smile spreading across her face, despite the warm flush his question brought to her cheeks.

“I believe yes. We have tents for each member of the clan. It’s not a communal tent. Though I’ve never shared a tent with anyone other than my Keeper Deshanna.

“Is that so?” He grinned, his scar twitching deliciously. He flipped her over, then slowly, deliberately, he tugged at the sheets surrounding her naked skin, while his mouth pecked tiny kisses following the intricate lines of her _vallaslin_.

“Cullen.” She gasped, as he unwrapped her delicately from the tangled sheets. “What are you doing?”

“As a human,” he nuzzled against the crook of her neck, speaking between each kisses he peppered onto her skin. “I would like to show you how much fun you can have in a bed, in addition to its marvelous comforts you’ve discovered.”

A moan slipped out as his warm fingers finally parted the sheets, revealing her bare skin to his touch. His mouth followed her green _vallaslin_ from her forehead, down her angled cheeks, to the curve of her neck. His left hand brought her body flush against his, and his right hand lightly cupped her breast.

“But… you’re sick…” He rolled her nipples between his fingers with feather-light touches, the sensations shooting down directly into her belly. “I shouldn’t… you’re supposed to rest-”

Her protests died in her mouth as he took her other breast into his mouth, his tongue swiveling over the stiff peak. Crying out at the unexpected onslaught of warm _pleasure_ , she clutched at his shirt. He did not stop the gentle ministrations on her breasts. His left hand moved up her body, to her ears, following the pointed line with soft teasing brushes of his fingertips.

“Vhenan’ara, please…” She gasped, rolling her hips against him despite herself. She wanted, no _needed_ to feel more of him. But-

“Cassandra’s downstairs!” She panted out, trying to cut through his feigned deafness. His eyes were closed as he hummed happily while licking, sucking, _biting_ her breasts. “Elgar’nan, she’ll hear me!”

Sylvia squeaked on the last syllable as his teeth grazed against the throbbing peak, the warmth pooling between her thighs quickly. He chuckled at her raised pitch, and smiled crookedly at her. She had to fight the urge to capture his lips with hers, to beg him to continue his attention she so appreciated.

“I’m quite content to lie here and play with you. It won’t strain me, I promise.” His voice was full of amusement as he took in her desperate eyes, at complete contrast to her verbal protests. “As for Cassandra…” He trailed off, a devious glint lighting up his eyes.

“Well, I hope you know how to keep quiet.” He spoke with his voice lowered an octave, knowing his voice would undo as much as his touch. Sylvia shivered as his words shot straight down to her cunt. He brought his mouth back down onto her chest, while his hand slowly, _slowly_ traveled down over her taut stomach, down to her trousers. His fingers inched over her skin, fire flaring up where his fingers touched her, rubbed her. She whimpered with anticipation, as his hand hovered over the thick fabric covering her legs. But Cullen didn’t disrobe her, as she expected him to. He instead looked to her eyes, searching, asking wordlessly for her permission.

She responded by ripping her trousers and her smallclothes off herself, unable to hold back the flood of desire for his touch. She lay beneath him, shivering and trembling under his hungry gaze. He groaned softly, eyes drinking in the sight of her bared before him greedily. She could feel the length of him hardening, pressing into her. But he continued to follow the trail he’d been on before, his hands journeying down to the apex of her thighs. She _burned_ for his touch. But he was still hesitant, his touch only a whisper against her heated sex.

“Ma vhenan! Please!” She gasped, knowing she wanted him. Knowing she wanted him more than anything in the world in that moment. And when Cullen saw the need in her eyes, he finally dipped a digit inside her.

He found her soaked, ready for him, and moaned out his approval, his appreciation. She bucked into his hand, wanton and hungering for more. Slowly _, agonizingly_ slowly, Cullen began to swirl his finger inside her, drawing helpless little mewls and moans from her. His teeth grazed her nipples over and over, tight and throbbing, almost painfully so.

“Are you all right?” He asked gently, gradually building the pressure inside her. Sylvia arched against him, as his fingers drove her closer to maddening bliss.

“Yes!” She hissed out, and he added another digit insider her, filling her up even more thoroughly. She moaned and bucked, earning a chuckle.

“Quiet, you. Cassandra’s still in my office.”

Sylvia whined in protest, as he crooked his fingers inside of her. She could feel herself shuddering, her legs quivering with the unrelenting pleasure reaching its peak with every stroke of his tongue, every pump of his hand.

Then Cullen kissed her, catching her open mouth with his. His tongue drove into her mouth, just as his fingers did to her lower lips. Sylvia tasted him, his scent flooding her senses until her world was filled with only him. Then his thumb pressed down over her pearl, slick with her own essence, and Sylvia shattered in his arms. She shuddered and ground her hips onto his hand, her cunt throbbing mercilessly, until her body tumbled over the edge into unknown ecstasy. His mouth swallowed her moans and cries, her jumbled elven words mixed with his name.

“Maker, but you’re beautiful.” He sighed into her, slowly bringing her down from her high with tender strokes. The common tongue still evaded her hazy mind.

“Ma serannas, emma lath.” She whispered, gazing into his golden eyes. His other hand traced the _vallaslin_ on her face.

“If you tell me what that means, I’ll do that to you again.” He laughed, pulling her into his warm embrace.

“One day, Cullen. One day.” Sylvia smiled, snuggling into his arms. Cradled in his arms, Sylvia knew she was safe, knew she was home. Cullen was her arla, her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments and kudos please! Would love to hear your thoughts!


	31. Ma Vhenan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas laughed with her, comforted by the presence of her and the wolves. For now this was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. So sorry the uploads have been kind of slow lately. It's because I've been working on this story indirectly.
> 
> 1) I rewrote chapter 1 - 15 for World Torn Asunder. Most of the changes I made were just fixing up sentence structures, but I *DID* change up chapter 6, 12, and 13 quite a bit. I added more elf-iness.
> 
> 2) I have finally figured out Sylvia's background story. Her birthday, family, etc. Her life up to the point of Conclave explosion can be found in the link below. If you want to find out more about my headstrong Inquisitor, do give it a visit :)
> 
> http://robotichawk.tumblr.com/Sylvia
> 
> 3) I reached 100 kudos!!! Thank you all for reading and leaving kudos!!!! You guys make me so happy you have no idea. Thank you, thank you. :)

“Commander.”

He looked up, as Solas’s calm voice drew him out of his musings. Smiling, he tilted his head slightly in acknowledgement.

“Solas.”

He often passed through the elf’s rotunda – it was the quickest route back to his office from the Great Hall after all. And since he’d started to spend more time in Sylvia’s quarters, he’s passed by the quiet apostate far too often. Cullen threw him a sheepish grin as Solas quirked his eyebrows amusedly at his passage.

“It seems that the number of times you’ve passed through here the last few days has increased. One would assume that the thing you have with lethallan is progressing nicely.”

Cullen paused, turning to face the elf fully, surprise staying the embarrassing flush that often colored his cheeks. He hadn’t expected such a teasing remark from him, who was usually so withdrawn. But Solas was one of Sylvia’s inner circle members, whom she trusted and often sought for advice. Shrugging, Cullen answered honestly.

“That there’s a ‘thing’ to be progressing at all is more than I’ve hoped for.” He admitted, sheepish grin still playing at his lips.

“Truth be told, I would never have guessed that there was anything going on at all.” Solas remarked, his voice sounding strangely hollow.

“I would have preferred it that way.” Cullen grumbled, letting out a long, dejected sigh.

“But after Jim interrupted us a couple of times, there was no way the rest of Skyhold didn’t know. Maker, the way the soldiers carry on, you’d think they were chatty servants or something.” He let out another sigh. “It’s Jim. It’s always Jim. Why is it always Jim?” Cullen muttered under his breath, wincing as his mind flashed back to those awkward moments when the young boy barged into his office, while Cullen and Sylvia had been lost in each other. By the Andraste’s grace, they were simply kissing – but still, having his man-at-arms walk in on the two of them wasn’t something he’d wanted to repeat so often.

Solas chuckled, his soft amused voice rumbling quietly. “But do you not enjoy being able to spend time with her freely? No one questions your presence by her side, or in her quarters. Everyone knows you two spend the nights together here.”

“We don’t! I mean, we do… but not the, the… other way. Maker, I will strangle Jim later.” Cullen stuttered, the words evading his hasty tongue. “It’s just… with her leaving Skyhold so often, it is hard to find time together.” Cullen could feel the heat creeping up to his face, and tried to shrug it off. He wasn’t a young recruit blushing at the lightest teasing jibes anymore. He _wasn’t_.

“No one would fault you if you did, Commander.” Solas replied quietly, his eyes fixed onto Cullen.

“Even so, I have no wish to make the Inquisitor feel uncomfortable.” Cullen replied firmly, his thoughts now turning to darker thoughts. How could he possibly ask her that? They’ve engaged in… _similar_ activities, but Cullen would never pressure her into anything she wouldn’t want to do. And frankly, he still couldn’t understand how she could even begin to tolerate his presence, given his and her history with the Templar Order.

With a start, he realized that he’d allowed the silence to stretch out for too long, while his mind wandered Sylvia’s dark room that one night with her sprawled on her bed, the Mark blazing, her screaming. He coughed nervously, bringing his focus back to the elf staring curiously at him.

“Speaking of the Inquisitor, I had a question if you don’t mind.” Cullen cast about, looking for a change of subject. “The Inquisitor’s taken to calling me some things in elven… which the meanings she has yet to share with me. Would you be willing to tell me what she says?”

“Oh? What does she call you, Commander?”

“Ma vahnen? Venin?” Cullen murmured, certain he was mangling the pronunciations. Judging by the way Solas grimaced and glowered, he was probably completely botching it. “Ima letz?”

“Ma halam!” Solas snarled, spitting out his hostility, then immediately calmed down, leaving Cullen confused and shocked at his sudden ferocity. He’s never seen Solas so worked up before. And they’ve fought the waves of demons from the Breach together back in Haven.

“Ir abelas, Commander. I have gotten too excited. I have not heard elven so thoroughly… wrecked before."

“I’m sorry. I do realize it sounds nothing like what she says.” He offered hesitantly, wary of angering this mysterious mage again.

“No, I have understood the gist of it. She calls you ‘ma vhenan’, does she not? ‘Emma lath’? Maybe even vhenan’ara?”

Cullen nodded, recognizing the foreign words that often graced her lips when she smiled at him.

“Could you tell me what it means?”

“I could.” Solas paused, his eyes calculating. “But I will not.”

Cullen crossed his arms, wondering if he was supposed to take offense.

“Allow me to clarify myself, Commander. I believe that it is not my place to tell you the meaning of these words.” Solas started, his face a calm mask that betrayed none of his anger earlier. “Lethallan has not told you the meaning of these words for her own reasons. I assume that she is waiting to tell you until she is ready. I will not drag her further than she is willing by telling you what she wishes to keep hidden for now.”

Slowly, Cullen nodded, realizing his own miss at seeking out the meaning she’s promised to tell him one day.

“You are right. I should not have asked you. I will await the day she is ready.” He smiled, wondering exactly when that’d be.

“Do you think you could help me with something else then?” He asked, hoping this would go better.

“Of course, Commander. What do you need?”

Blushing, Cullen mumbled out his question. He flushed crimson as Solas gave him an odd look, but he did not back down, knowing he wanted this. He stayed, despite the mortifying red coloring his cheeks once again.

* * *

Solas watched the man leaving his rotunda, the door swinging shut behind his armored body. Even now, he could feel the fiery rage burning passionately within him. It was a blinding, stunning sensation, white-hot anger that stoked the fire scorching inside into a raging inferno that drowned out all reasons and senses. The passion burning so hot that he’d actually snarled at the innocent young shem, leaving him confused and wary.

It was his mistake, to snarl like his true self at the Commander. It was only a momentary lapse in his guard, but he had to be careful, to keep himself hidden among these lambs. Sighing, Solas settled himself on the chair and closed his eyes.

The Commander did not deserve this maddening anger Solas was brooding on. That man did not deserve this illogical hate Solas was drowning in. But he could not help how his lips curled with distaste at the man’s very _existence_ , despising every inch of that shem, down to every strand of his curly hair. He cursed the very air the breathed. He wanted to feel his body shredded to ribbons underneath his claws, to feel the warm heart still beating as his fangs crushed it, ripping it free from the man’s chest.

But Commander was an honest man, who deserved none of what Solas wished to do. Frowning, Solas tried to keep still, only the agitated tapping fingers on the arm rest betraying his restlessness. Solas was no fool, he knew why he was feeling this irrational hostility towards the man. It was, of course, because of Sylvia Lavellan, whose soul was entwined with his.

Even now, he could feel the young wolf tied to him, tugging gently on his lonely heart. With his eyes closed, he could _feel_ her, her soft black hair tumbling down her slender shoulders, barely veiling her bronze-tanned skin. He could _taste_ her scent in his mouth, flowery and sweet, reminding him of the lush emerald forest he used to roam long ago in his youth. She was a long lost piece of himself that completed him. Her smile lit up his entire world, making it more captivating than Fade ever could be. Her frown shattered the very ground beneath him. She was his heart, his life, his love.

A quiet, needy whine slipped past his lips unbidden. Her black eyes held secrets he could devote his long, long life to unraveling. Her stubborn set of jaw brought out amused chuckles from him effortlessly. Her confidence and cunning wit left him breathless. He could not help but admire the way she carried herself through this whirlpool of disaster he’d accidentally released into the world. She was joined with him from the very depths of their _souls_.

And yet, _his lath_ did not choose him. Instead, she chose the warrior shem as her mate. Despite the violation, abuse, and defilement she suffered in the hands of _his_ brothers, she smiled radiantly at _him_. With tender eyes and gentle laugh she so rarely spared for others, his soulmate ravished Cullen with affectionate caresses.

The two hid away their private time in their quarters, taking small moments whenever they could, for they were always the Inquisitor and her Commander in public. But Solas could hear her charming laughter in the Fade, as the two slumbered together in the depths of the dream realm untroubled.

Usually, he could keep the wild turmoil inside him, allowing only the calm façade to be visible for others. He kept the mask in place through the practice he’s had over hundreds of years. He could be _civil_ towards the Commander. He could be friendly. He didn’t bounce like a little child when she smiled at him, or gush excitedly at her when she inquired to him of his experiences in the Fade.

But finding out that she called that shem her heart, her love had shredded his thin layer of disguise, allowing his feral rage to slip out momentarily. _Jealousy._ The name of the poison that enflamed every inch of being with hatred that far surpassed the rage he’d felt long ago against the false elven gods. It was the toxin that rotted him from the within. It was the consequence of euphoric drug called love that elevated him to drunken ecstatic state.

His door banged open again, and she rushed in to his rotunda. Alarmed at her hurried pace, he nearly jumped out of the chair he’d sunken into.

“Lethallin!” She gasped, grasping his arm and pulling him upright. Without giving him a chance to speak, she thrust his mostly-packed bag into his arms, talking in elven the entire time. “Fendhis! I completely forgot about Bull’s Qunari contacts at Storm Coast. We leave in three minutes, ma falon.”

“Wha-”

“On the road, Solas!” She was already sprinting for the door that lead up the tower, craning over her head to look at him. “Three minutes!”

“Watch where you’re going!” He shouted after her fast-receding form, as she kept her eyes trailed on him.

“Start packing, you felas fen. You better be – uff” She grunted as she ran smack into the door flame. She crumpled onto the floor, and he rushed forward to help. But before he could take two steps, she was up and running again.

“You saw _nothing!_ ” She laughed, waving her hand at him before she disappeared up the staircase. He stood stunned, rooted spot as her faint voice carried down from upstairs. He could hear her shouting at Dorian to get his perfect mustached-self moving towards the stables.

Within seconds, she was running through his rotunda again, dashing right by him.

“I’m going to leave you behind Solas! Move!” She called, once again flitting out of his vision.

He stood for a moment longer, his hands still clutching at his half-packed sack, until laughter burst from him. He bent over, wheezing painfully as his body shook with mirth. He laughed until the Tevinter mage rushed past him as well.

Yes, she shook his entire world with the barest touches. She was simply too addictive, the perfect concoction to lure him to the depths of insanity, where he flailed about like a new born elf. She awakened the sensations he’d thought himself grown numbed to.

Slinging his pack over his shoulder, Solas bolted for the stables as well, following closely behind Dorian. The man threw a glance behind, smirking. “I’m not lending you my things, just because you haven’t packed.”

Solas laughed, increasing his pace until he overtook the other mage. His feet carried him swiftly towards her, his heart full of inexplicable joy. He felt as he had thousand years ago, young and carefree. Every aspect of the world new and unknown, ready to be explored.

Sylvia brought out his long-forgotten self; Solas, one of the People. Young, innocent, wide-eyed at the beautiful world that held endless potential, long before the heavy title of Fen’Harel overtook him. He could see her waiting by the stables, mounted atop her magnificent red hart, surrounded by dozens of wolves. She hooted loudly, before kicking her mount into a gallop. She smiled and laughed as Solas jumped onto his own hart, almost clumsy in his hate. The small party rode out from the Skyhold’s gate haphazardly, each laughing breathlessly at each other. Solas was part of them, staying as close to her as possible. He laughed with her, comforted by the presence of her and the wolves. For now this was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave comments :) Would love to hear what you guys all think.


	32. Demands of the Qun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Will you, or will you not allow your men to die for your Qun?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click me~~~ -> robotichawk.tumblr.com/Sylvia
> 
> above link no longer exists.

“You gave your Chargers the easier target.”

Sylvia listened quietly as the elf named Gatt mumbled to Bull while they hiked up to the designated hill. She quietly exchanged looks with Solas, as Bull played dumb.

“You think?”

“Lower and farther from the smugglers’ ship? It’s much less likely to be heavily defended.” Gatt continued, and from the corner of her eyes, she could see the suspicion lurking about the elf’s sharp eyes.

“I insisted on taking this target, Gatt.” Sylvia quipped, dragging the attention back over to herself. “I can hardly sit on my hands during the very first combined operation with the Qunari.”

“Suppose we’ll do the heavy lifting, then. Just like old times.” Bull and Gatt chuckled together, the tension easing out between them, and Sylvia focused back onto climbing the hill. She could hear her wolves howling close by. She’d ordered her wolves to seek out and surround both targets before starting the hike.

“Get ready. We’re close.” She called out grimly, pulling her staff off from her back, watching Dorian and Solas do the same.

She commanded the trees to ensnare the Ventori with their roots, and they obeyed. As Solas and Dorian cast barriers over the party, Venatori screamed their pain and misery as thick roots crushed their bones to pulp within seconds.

Only few Venatori avoided such fate by standing too close to the cliff’s edge, where tree roots couldn’t burrow through the hard stones. The Tevinters raised their swords and staffs and screeched their battle cries, rushing her as Sylvia stood still, bending the forest to her will.

“Boss, duck!” Bull roared, charging towards her with heavy footsteps shaking the ground, and Sylvia dropped. Not a moment too soon – Bull’s greatsword swung through exactly where her head’s been a moment before, cleaving a Venatori soldier in half.

“Would you be more fucking careful?” Sylvia shouted, irritated at the prospect of possibly losing her head.

“I said duck, Boss!” Bull laughed as he charged on ahead, swinging his giant sword like a twig.

“Venhedis! Watch where you point that thing!” Dorian shouted, as Bull did an overhead cut powerful enough crumble the ground. It pummeled the Venatori that was about to take a hit on Dorian into the ground.

“Festis bei umo canavarum!” _You will be the death of me!_ Dorian cursed as he dusted off his coat, looking more irritated than anything. But Bull was already charging once more, scattering the few that was trying to circle around Solas.

“You try that one more time, and I’m going to freeze your horns off!” Sylvia called after the mountain of muscle, her fingers dancing and tracing the intricate pattern over and over again, winding and looping in a complex pattern that controlled the trees around them. The small circle of trees swayed and flowed under the demands of her magic, bending and twisting to reflect her will.

“Yeah, yeah. Got it, Boss.” Bull waved, nearly hitting Solas by accident. He sure was excited to be fighting with Gatt.

“Fenedhis, Bull! I’m right here!” Solas cried angrily, turning towards Bull after dispatching the last Venatori agent with a powerful stonefist spell. Dorian started toward Bull with Gatt as well, relieved with the ease they had wiped Venatori out with.

Sylvia smiled and walked towards them as well, watching the friendly banter passing back and forth among her companions when her elven ears caught the sharp whine from one of her wolves hidden in the forest. The warning came just few seconds before the actual threat, but it was enough.

A wounded Venatori agent who’d been pretending to be dead lunged at Solas, with a bloodcurdling cry. Her friend started to turn, attempting to twist out of the way of the blade, just as Bull grabbed at his robe to pull him out of the way.

Sylvia’s magic thundered through the trees, making their roots burst from the ground and wrap around the last surviving hostile. It tore the man clean in half, his upper torso swinging on the tree’s upright root, dripping thick blood onto the grass, wetting the ground with his life. His innards spilled out unceremoniously onto the ground, a few inches short of Solas’ foot.

“Ma serannas, da’len.” Solas breathed out, looking a little more shaken than usual. “Ma melava halani.”

“Of course, Solas.” Sylvia lowered her hands, smiling at him. She idly noted that Gatt was looking at her strangely, and hoped she looked inspiring enough to live up to her titles.

“We’re clear, Gatt.” Bull nudged the elf, and he started.

“Right. Signaling the dreadnought.” Gatt knelt by the bonfire, and soon the flare was whistling up above their head, arching high into the misty sky.

“Chargers already sent theirs up. See ‘em down there?” Bull pointed out at his group of misfits across the valley, and Sylvia squinted to get a good look at them. True enough, Chargers were strolling about the camp, cutthroats double checking each of the corpses.

“I knew you gave them the easier job.” That just drew another smile from Bull. But soon, her attention was caught by the bells ringing from the valley beneath them, and Sylvia got her very first good look at the Qunari dreadnought.

“There’s the dreadnought.” Bull puffed out proudly, and Sylvia could only watch, awed by the magnificent might of the war vessel. It was _huge_ , armed with countless cannons and riding on the winds swiftly. Rows upon rows of oars rose and fell with thrumming rhythm, propelling the warship forward. Its front was spiked and curved, akin to the jaws of dreaded beast cetus. It soon began to bombard the Tevinter ship with fireballs.

“That brings back memories.” Bull sighed wistfully, looking down at the battle raging below. But his hearty laughter was soon twisted into resignation.

“Crap.”

“What?” Sylvia tore her eyes off the dreadnought, following Bull’s line of sight. Her heart dropped as she watched Venatori reinforcements swarming up towards the Chargers. She quickly scanned the distance between the two forces.

“They’ve still got time to fall back if you signal them now. The Chargers can’t stand against that kind of force.” She looked to Bull with relief, but Bull didn’t reach for his horn.

“No. They can’t.” His voice shook ever so slightly, as he looked towards the hill.

“Your men need to hold that position, Hissrad.” Gatt murmured softly opposite of her, and she understood. If the Chargers were to pull out now, the dreadnought would be lost.

“They do that, they’re dead.” Bull turned towards Gatt, his voice low.

“So what? If you pull them out now, you’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari! You’d be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!”

Sylvia watched, as Bull glared at Gatt menacingly.

“With all you’ve given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you’ve betrayed us already! I stood up for you, Hissrad! I told them you would _never_ become Tal-Vashoth!”

“They’re my men.” Sylvia shivered at the words Bull uttered, low and full of power.

“I know. But you need to do what’s right, Hissrad… for this alliance, and for the Qun.”

Solas and Dorian shared a look with each other, as Bull once again looked towards the Venatori reinforcements creeping ever closer to the waiting Chargers. Sylvia cut sharply down with her hand, shutting up both of the mages before they could protest against Gatt. They needed the alliance with the Qunari. It gave them too much advantage against Corypheus to simply give up.

“We need to hold that hill.” She muttered under her breath, her eyes scanning the valley quickly, her mind calculating. As she stood still, mind whirring with possible actions she could take, Fen prowled out from the bushes, padding up to her.

“Fen, not now.” She patted the wolf distractedly, gazing at the Venatori agents climbing the hill. She knew she’d have to make the decision soon.

“Boss,” Bull tried catch her eye, but Sylvia shook her head angrily. She was the only Dalish mage here, only one who could control the forests. The Chargers were too far away for Dorian and Solas to do any effective damage. She couldn’t send her men over either, as they needed to hold this position as well, and two legs weren’t going to be able to reach the Chargers in time.

She smashed her staff down in frustration, but Fen was once again nudging against her leg.

“Yes, Fen? What is it?” She growled, finally looking down at her wolf. But she wasn’t prepared to see the resolve burning in her wolves eyes when her eyes met his canine ones.

Sylvia had brought her wolves for the purpose of scouting only. They’d never participated in a direct combat before – her wolves didn’t even have armors. But there was no mistaking her wolf’s intent, the _hunt_ her wolf was preparing himself for.

And it would be a hunt, just like any other, and not a battle. Her wolves would kill the preys, and return to her victorious with the spoils. Finally, she nodded her assent, though worry weighed heavily on her heart. Fen was soon whipping through the trees, down the hill with the rest of the pack, and Sylvia kneeled down onto the grassy field.

“Boss!” Bull called out insistently, but Sylvia shushed him with a gesture. It had been a long time since she’d used Dalish magic on targets so far away from her. She needed to concentrate.

“Chargers will hold the hill.” She clipped out, and closed her eyes, placing her hands on the ground above her.

Her awareness began to spread down her limbs, warm prickling sensation that trickled down her forearms, into her fingers, and down into the ground. Soon, the grass she was kneeling on became part of her, swaying with the wind. Then her awareness expanded further, including the great trees standing proudly atop the hill. She was within their branches, her hair was their leaves, and her body nested within the tree trunks. The thin stream of her mind soon became a rushing river, and eventually the ocean that blanketed the forest, each wave of her magic spreading herself even wider.

Sylvia breathed deeply, and pushed further, her magic nudging further and further away from her. Soon she was running with her wolves towards the Chargers, her paws thudding against the wet grounds of Storm Coast. Her tongue rolled freely out of her canine mouth, and then she was among the Chargers, looking down at the Bull’s mercenaries from the tall trees.

Sylvia’s physical body shuddered with the exertion, her magic taking heavy toll. Her hands tightened around fistful of grass, and she bent lower and lower, until her forehead touched the ground. She was within her body and without – her awareness soaring far beyond the confines of her flesh. She was everywhere in this forest, and the forest _was_ her.

An arrow was loosed by the Venatori, flying straight and true towards Krem. Sylvia lifted a finger to stop the arrow, and a tree root erupted from the ground, knocking it away. With thousand leaves serving as her eyes, Sylvia watched her wolves burst out from undergrowth, snarling and howling fiercely as they descended upon the unsuspecting mages. Her roots danced and flowed, impaling the surprised enemies easily. Her branches tripped and snagged the Venatori, making them an easier target for the Chargers. Her thick trunks grew wide and tough, providing shields for her wolves that wore no armors.

She breathed, and her breath knocked the Venatori onto their backs, and the cutthroats were up on them in seconds, slicing their throats even as trees crumpled their armor. Tree roots and branches crisscrossed the clearing in deadly arcs, blood dripping down its long lengths.

Within moments, the skirmish was over, with Venatori hanging grotesquely from sharpened branches and roots. No longer able to maintain the spell, Sylvia sighed and withdrew back into her body with a grunt. After being one with the nature for so long, her own body felt alien, constricting, and feeling sick, Sylvia keeled over.

“Hey there, love, careful, careful.” Dorian’s strong fingers caught her before she could hit the ground, and Sylvia clutched at his arms, squinting at the water below.

“Is the dreadnought safe?” Sylvia whispered, searching for Bull. “And the Chargers? Are they safe? My wolves?”

“Yeah, Boss. They’re all safe.” Bull squatted down beside her, and Sylvia let out a satisfied sigh.

“Good. That’s… good. I’m glad.” She grinned, and allowed the darkness to consume her.

* * *

His door banged open with a resounding crack, making Cullen wince at the unexpected noise. He looked up irritated as scout Pellane rushed into his office.

“Commander! Sister Nightingale requests your presence immediately.” He wheezed, and alarmed, Cullen strode over to the boy.

“What? Why?” But Pellane only shook his head, gesturing towards Leliana’s tower while he struggled for a breath. Cullen hesitated for a moment, checking to make sure Pellane was okay before nodding and striding out over to the bridge. He would find out for himself, he supposed. No reason to force the boy to talk while Leliana waited for him.

The moment he opened the door leading into the rotunda, Cullen understood. The tower was the very definition of chaos itself, the usually quiet researchers and scouts shouting and screaming in panic. He could hear the harsh screeches somewhere above, and grey feathers were floating gently down.

He narrowly missed getting bashed in the head with a book dropped from the top floor, jumping out of the way of the heavy tome barely in time. It landed with a dull _thud_ , and he warily moved to the staircase, taking care to avoid further projectiles as he took three steps at a time.

“Leliana! Maker, what’s going on?” He shouted over the confusion, finding the Spymaster ducking under the table.

“I have never, ever seen a bird that grumpy.” She shouted back, her words dripping with annoyance.

His eyes followed her pointed finger, settling on a huge grey eagle making the horrendous screeching noise, creating the madness he’d just climbed through. It was pulling books out of the shelves with its claws, and harassing the researchers by pulling on their hair with its sharp beak. Despite its massive size, it was lighting fast, and Leliana’s people wasn’t having much luck at capturing the strange bird.

“Do something about it!” Leliana snapped, drawing his attention back towards her. “You handle the Inquisitor’s eagle fairly often, yes? Get that bird to calm down!”

Cullen shrugged, stepping towards the grey thing streaking through the air. It was scattering the Hard in Hightown books now, he noticed. Pulling his glove off of his hand and bringing it to his lips, Cullen let out a piercing whistle. He did his best to imitate Sylvia’s tone; He’d seen her call Assan that way, while they were out hunting on numerous occasions.

The eagle fluttered to a stop midair, finally stopping its grinding cries. It shot him a hostile gaze, flapping its wings rapidly.

Cullen stuck his left arm out towards it, keeping his eyes firmly on the bird. “Come, sit.” He commanded, fervently hoping that it would understand. Assan seemed to understand most of his words – though he had no idea if all Dalish eagles were like that.

The grey bird beat its wings once, twice, before finally relenting. It fluttered down on to his outstretched arm, its sharp claws scratching against his metal bracer. It gave another ringing screech, but settled down comfortably, sticking its leg out to him.

Cullen untied the note from the bird, as the tower slowly quieted. Scouts and librarians peeked out from under the tables and shelves, assuring themselves that grey claws and beak would no longer rain down upon them. He could hear the collective sighs and grumbles, and chuckled quietly.

“Get this mess cleaned up.” He could hear Leliana ordering about behind him, just before she appeared within his sight.

“Thank you for the help, Commander.” She sighed, as he inclined his head. He passed the untied note to Leliana, while he brought his arm closer to his body, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the hostile bird. He could see her unrolling the parchment out of corner of his eye, and noticing his diverted attention, she read the letter out loud.

_Da’len,_

_I would not trouble you normally. You have enough on your shoulders, fighting ancient Tevinter magisters while representing your people. Unfortunately, the rifts that plague this land have spread chaos and fear along with them, and many seek to take advantage of it._

_Bandits are attacking Clan Lavellan. The raiders are well armed and heavily armored, and they come in numbers our hunters cannot match. We had settled in a small unclaimed valley not far from Wycome, a safe place with few rifts – but these bandits may force us to seek a new home. If your Inquisition can help, you might save our clan much hardship._

_Dareth shiral,_

_Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

Leliana finished reading, and frowned. Her darkened features reflected his own, as she rolled the note back up.

“We must send forces to aid the clan.” He started, but Leliana shook her head.

“What are the chances of our Inquisitor’s clan being attacked by powerful bandits? Dalish hunters are formidable. No ordinary gang would ever give them trouble. There must be something more to it.”

“They are in need of our help now. We can find out who’s behind the attack after the immediate threat is gone!” The eagle ruffled its feathers at his rough tone, and Cullen worked to calm himself. He had no wish to repeat the disaster in the tower he’d walked into.

“Luckily, the Inquisitor also sent word earlier today, informing us that she’d arrive at Skyhold by tomorrow. We can each draw up our plans by then, and she can choose what to do. It will save us both time and effort if we avoid quarrelling until then.” Leliana tapped her lips, and Cullen grumbled his assent.

“Fine. Then I’ll take my leave. Will you keep the bird?”

“No, get that devil out of my bird tower. It would only antagonize my crows.” She waved at him, grimacing. “I’m sure you can keep it in the Inquisitor’s quarters. Or even your own? Just don’t bring it back here.”

Despite himself, Cullen smiled and nodded. With the grey eagle perched firmly on his shoulder now, he walked back towards his office. He hoped Assan wouldn’t mind the new companion.

* * *

Bull stared deep into the flickering light, dancing flames reflected in his own grey-blue pools of eyes. The mesmerizing dance continued endlessly, the campfire crackling and jumping high into the deep night sky, twisting, tumbling, wavering. Bull gazed at the intricate steps the flame waltzed through, noticing the almost-patterns in its wild performance as the heat blazed onto his skin uncomfortably.

“Bull!”

Her voice rang out across the camp they’d made, but he couldn’t quite pull his eyes away from the dancing lights, captured by their delicate, yet wild, beauty.

“Hey there, Boss.” He grunted back, as she dropped down onto the log he was sitting on. He shifted over a little to give her more room, listening to the little silver bells woven into her hair jingle merrily. Her grey wolf prowled over as well, setting himself down by her feet. She idly stretched out a hand to stroke its fur.

“You’ve been awful quiet.” The small elf also stared into the fire, and he grunted again. He knew he’s been uncharacteristically withdrawn since the entire crap at Strom Coast.

His attention was caught by rest of the companions crowded at the edge of the camp, sitting around the other campfire. His Chargers and boss’ companions were laughing and cheering, with open casks set about them. Some were throwing curious glances towards him, but kept their distance. Boss most likely ordered them not to disturb him.

“Thanks for distracting them, Boss.” He rumbled into the fire, and she tilted her head. The silver bells jingled softly with the motion.

“Do you want me to hit you with a stick again?” She smiled, keeping her eyes trained onto the flames. It twisted and jumped, crackling in the calm night.

“Nah, that exercise won’t help right now. Thanks for offering though.”

“mmh.”

They fell quiet again, simply gazing into the mesmerizing dance. The gentle breeze continued to coax quiet jingles from her hair. He soon broke the silence, unable to bear her presence any longer.

“Right, so, I really didn’t ask you to sit here and brood with me, Boss.”

“mmh.”

“So if you could leave me alone, that’d be great.”

“I’m the boss, I sit where I want.” She chuckled, turning to look at him finally. “You got something going on inside you, Bull. I left you alone for the past ten days we’ve ridden from Storm Coast, but it’s about time I nagged you.”

“Yeah, I got something in me. Poison. Weird ass poison, Boss. I’m working on it.” He shook his head, and she ducked to avoid getting caught by his horns.

“Bull, the Chargers are alive.” She tilted her chin towards the other campfire, where his men drank and laughed boisterously. “They didn’t die, and we got the alliance with your people. The situation was shitty, but we pulled through. It’s the best outcome we could have hoped for, so cheer up!”

“It was crap, Boss. The entire thing was crappy.”

“Fine. It got a little heated there with the Chargers, but my wolves got to them in time.” Boss rubbed Fen affectionately, while still looking at him. “It was a good call to bring the wolves, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was.” He grimaced, thinking back to the battle. If the wolves hadn’t intervened, his Chargers would never have survived the fight.

“So? Why aren’t you over there, drinking with your men?”

He remained mute, as she continued to stroke the wolf.

“Bull, listen to them. They’re laughing, but they laugh a tad too hard. They’re drinking a tad too much. Chargers understand how close things got. Their actions are tinged with hysteria.”

He stared into the fire. He didn’t need her to tell him to recognize the common signs of fear and relief. The bells jingled endlessly in the dark night.

“Would you have let the Chargers die?” She finally asked, the one he’d dreading to ask himself. The one he’d been asking himself over and over again.

“There was a moment, before I called for the wolves, when Gatt was telling you to keep your men in place. Would you have ordered the Chargers to retreat? Or would you have sacrificed them for the Qun?”

He bunched his fist up, and growled. “I’m Ben-Hassrath, Boss. Chargers is my cover.”

“And yet you told Gatt that they’re your men. You hesitated.”

The flames bore into his vision, and he wished it could burn the words dropping from her tongue.

“You’re afraid that you’ve become Tal-Vashoth. You’ve been living a double life for so long, you don’t know who you really are.”

“I am _nothing_ like Tal-Vashoth!” Yet his words sounded hollow, despite the force behind them.

The silence settled between them once again, the bells jingling, fire crackling. Fen yawned by her feet, as she stroked its fur softly.

“We are alike, you and I.” She broke the tension this time, her words slicing through to him. “We were both spies for our people. We read the situations in tactical ways, keep ourselves detached. And we both want to fit in with our people, though they accuse us of betrayal.”

She finally released him from her unwavering gaze, turning her eyes towards the fire once again. It was a long time before she spoke again.

“You read people like a book, Bull. You see pretty much all there is to see. You know about me, don’t you? In the Fade, your Ben-Hassrath read told you something about me, that others didn’t catch.”

He hesitated, before nodding slowly. “Templars.” He spoke carefully.

“Templars.” She laughed harshly, her usually sweet voice bitter as bile, venomous. “That was what my Clan did to me, Bull. I wanted nothing more than to be one of them, to sit by their fire and share stories, laugh, and eat together. But what I got, was five Templars instead.”

He winced, at the emptiness in her eyes. The despair that was seeped into her words. The wrath that burned in her soul.

“What have your people done to you, Hissrad? What will they do to you?”

He stilled, as his Qunari title left her tender lips. The word was spoken correctly, but was somehow wrong, so very _wrong_.

“You’ve submitted to the re-educators of your people once. Allowed them to pump you full of qamek, morph your thoughts into those that was befitting of Hissrad.” She continued on, her voice hollow as the dead, yet filled with rage so potent he could almost taste it.

“Will you submit yourself to the re-educators once again? You know they can wash away your doubts. You would stand on that hill at Storm Coast, and sacrifice the Chargers for the demands of the Qun, Hissrad. So I ask you, will you go back to the Qunari and be re-educated? I will grant you leave to do so.”

“And miss fighting the Tevinterest Vint in the history of all Vints? Not gonna happen, Boss.”

“Be realistic. This is war we’re involved in, Hissrad. It could be years before we see the end of Corypheus. There is plenty of time for you to be re-educated should you wish. And you will be guaranteed to return, as I will specifically request you to be the ambassador between the Inquisition and Qunari. This is your choice. Will you submit yourself once again to the re-educators?”

He sat quietly, the simple answer cruelly evading his desperate mind.

“I will not make this easy for you. Will you or will you not? It’s a yes or no question.”

“I don’t know, Boss! It’s not that simple!” He roared, bearing down on the small elf. But she did not even blink.

“Yes, it absolutely is. Yes or no? Will you, or will you not allow your men to die for your Qun?”

“No!” The words left his mouth before he realized, responding to her demanding tone. He clamped down, too late to take back the accursed answer.

“No.” She whispered back to him, her eyes softening at him. “No, you won’t.”

“I am Tal-Vashoth.” He grumbled, disbelief coloring his voice. “I am _fucking_ Tal-Vashoth. I lost my purpose.”

She tapped her chin lightly, before she answered. “The Qun offers purpose to those who follow its teachings. Purpose can be a tremendous catalyst to gaining strength, and Qunari definitely believe so. But relying too heavily on the given purpose, when you are desperate to achieve something, that purpose cleverly eats away at your soul. It would corrode your essence until only an empty doll that chases after hollow goals remained.

No, Bull, you’re not Tal-Vashoth. Just like how I’m no flat-ear, despite leaving my Clan. I’m the Inquisitor, not a flat-ear. You’re The Iron Bull, leader of the excellent mercenary company Chargers, in service to the Inquisition. You have a purpose, Bull, saving Thedas from the Tevinterest Vint in existence. You’re no Tal-Vashoth.”

She smiled at him, her bells chiming comfortingly. The jingles were somehow less ominous, and the fire crackled with warmth, not with blistering heat that had been scorching him moments earlier.

“Huh, would you look at that.” He shook his head, once again nearly hitting her with his horns. “The Iron Bull. Damn.”

“That’s right. Damn, Bull, damn.” She laughed heartily, punching his arm lightly.

“Well, Boss. I think you just gave me a new nameday.” He grunted, and she lightly sprang to her feet with a grin.

“True. That calls for some celebratory drinking, does it not?”

He chuckled, as her tiny hand grasped his own, and pulled him towards the other campfire, laughter flowing freely.

“Ohhh yes. Lot of drinks.” He laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos ;) hope you guys all enjoyed the Dalish magic!!
> 
> FYI: The spells Sylvia used, that I adapted. Taken from Dragon Age Wikia
> 
> One with the nautre - The keeper's bond with the earth creates a defensive shield that immobilizes the keeper for as long as this spell is active, but inflicts nature damage and a penalty to movement speed on any enemy that enters the field.
> 
> Thorn Blades - The keeper calls roots from beneath the earth to inflict physical damage on all enemies within the field created by One With Nature. The roots also knock enemies back unless they pass a physical resistance check.
> 
> Nature's Vengeance - The keeper summons gigantic roots from within the ground to attack all enemies in the area, impaling the opponents for a short time unless they pass a physical resistance check.


End file.
